


Familiarity Over Uncertainty

by xXxBlackDahliaxXx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Injury, M/M, Minor Character Death, Older Characters, Post-War, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxBlackDahliaxXx/pseuds/xXxBlackDahliaxXx
Summary: Harry cannot face the Wizarding World after reliving the most painful memories of his past and seeks shelter within the familiarity of Hogwarts. In a bid to stay, he begins an unlikely career as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He did not expect Draco Malfoy to be the new Potions Master, however. How can he forgive who Malfoy was and accept that the boy he once hated has changed? Can they find an uneasy alliance or will their dappled past always be a barrier between them? (Future MxM & smut)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 56
Kudos: 115





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sory I started a few years ago and posted on FanFiction -- but life gets in the way. In my case, it physically did. I had a baby and things were crazy for a while. But I miss writing and I miss this story, so I'm picking it up again. I thought I would add it on here too! Please comment and let me know what you think! I love reading comments :-) Enjoy!

**Title:** Familiarity Over Uncertainty   
**Disclaimer:** J.K Rowling and associates own these characters and universe. I am writing this for fun and make no profit from it.   
**Pairing:** Future HP/DM with other canon pairings.   
**Rating:** Rated M for swearing, violence, and sex.   
**Content Notes:** Torture, Death, Blood, Gore, Swearing, Injury, Pain, Comfort, Sex.   
**Author's Notes:** So this story is kind of feeding my nostalgia of going back to Hogwarts, although approaching it through an adult's eyes. It will be a slow burn story because both Harry and Draco have some skeletons in the closet that they're not quite ready to face. There will (hopefully) be M-Rated content in later chapters. 

* * *

"Calm yourself, Mr Potter."

Harry could feel the tension crackling in the room, along with a lick of his magic that made the window panes shudder warningly. The muscles in his jaw were so tight that they cried out, but he didn't grant them relief. Instead, he flopped unceremoniously onto the chair opposite the calm frame of Professor McGonagall –

Harry inwardly winced before correcting himself.  _ Headmistress  _ McGonagall.

He sighed heavily and covered his eyes with his left hand whilst his right hand clung to his wand like a life-line. He could feel the crusted blood on his face and the slight bite of pain on his hip. He didn't doubt that he looked as bad as he felt.

"Now, Harry, tell me what happened."

Her soft yet commanding tone caused the Auror to look up instinctively as the horrors of the night flew past his open eyes. He could still feel the nails raking down his arm, hear the scream in his head…

A breeze stirred the air around them and he saw McGonagall shift in her chair. His attention was caught by the office he was in.

So much of it was familiar, and yet, so very different.

The office now occupied by Minerva hadn't changed much from the last time he was in there. Of course, some of Dumbledore's trinkets had been replaced with Minerva's, along with some portraits. They were all watching him ominously, and as he caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and white hair, he looked down. His hands wrapped around themselves as he fought down the rage barely contained under his skin.

"I… was betrayed," he breathed, his voice hoarse from screaming.

McGonagall's eyes softened and he felt a rush of affection for his former professor. She had always been nice to him, so much so that he considered her a branch in his somewhat twisted family tree.

Soft hands reached over and placed themselves on his forearm. He covered her lined fingers with his own but recoiled when he saw the blood and dirt smeared across them.

"Harry," she cooed, so lightly he barely heard her. Tears stung at his eyes and he forced himself to his feet, too restless and angry to let them show.

McGonagall didn't move, instead, she kept watching him with a neutral expression, although he could see the sympathy in her eyes.

"H – Harris, he… he sold me out. We were on this case for months. Some Necromancer was terrorising Muggles, bringing them from graves and trying to start some damn apocalypse. He was a slimy bastard and always seemed to be one step ahead of us. But it was all a fucking lie, just a bloody rouse to draw me out and away from the boundaries of the Ministry… Harris, he – he…"

The words caught in his throat and he choked back a sob. As his knees buckled, warmth and black robes enveloped him.

McGonagall's words were lost on him as he drowned in the memories.

Yes, the Necromancer had turned out to be a former Death Eater and had lured Harry to the same fucking graveyard he was in eleven years ago. He had been with Auror Katie Bell as his partner of four years, Luke Harris, had disappeared. Harry and Katie had been looking over his notes when an owl had swooped into his office bearing a letter and a button from the shirt Harris had been wearing the last time Harry had seen him. It was smeared in blood.

The letter had contained some threat or another, and fearing for Harris's life, Harry touched the button. Katie barely grabbed his arm before they were Portkeyed to that graveyard.

As soon as he saw it, Harry realised his mistake. But it was too late.

"Come on, Harry," soothed Minerva, slowly drawing him from the memories. He felt his throat stinging and his nose uncomfortably stuffed, signs that he had been crying. Part of his brain told him he should stop being such a baby, but everything was just too fresh.

He felt himself being guided across the floor, barely registering the direction before a flurry of activity caused him to look up.

Suddenly he was a teenager again, being rushed into the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey bristled at the sudden disturbance but stopped dead when she saw who was clutching to the Headmistress.

He barely heard her whisper his name before his legs failed him again. Sadly, he was no match for the two startled witches and crashed to the ground in an undignified lump.

_ "Good timing, Potter." _

_ Harry spun his head around, searching for immediate danger. His wand swayed with him before finally falling on the figure before him. _

_ "Harris, everything alright?" _

_ But he wasn't alright. The maniacal smirk on his face didn't suit the man Harry had worked side-by-side with for four years. The usually pristine brown hair was sticking out wildly, his robes were torn and dirty. Chills rolled up Harry's spine before he heard the bark of a spell to his right. Katie was already rolling away, dodging Harris's hex. _

_ But Harry was rooted to the spot. All he could see was the tombstone he had been imprisoned in all those years ago. He felt the bite of pain on his arm where he would forever bare the scar that brought Voldemort back to life. Now it was happening again. He was back again. The Dark fucker would never die. He was destined to be haunted by the vicious lunatic until the day he died. Harry felt the panic grab his throat and his lungs were being crushed. _

_ Only a single cry brought him slamming back into reality. _

_ "Harry!" _

_ He spun on his heel just as Katie fell, brought down by a blue flash. He saw Harris send another hex her way and watched as she writhed in pain. _

_ Then that smile was turned to him. In the second he should have acted, Harry didn't move. Harris didn't hesitate, stunning the Chosen One and sending him sprawling across the dirt. _

_ Even though his body was paralysed, Harry could still see. But he wished what he saw was nothing but a nightmare. It felt like a nightmare, but the cold seeping into him from the muddy ground was too real. _

_ Harris walked casually forward, almost sauntering. He knelt by the bound Saviour and snatched his wand up greedily. _

_ "Oh, Potter… this must be horrible for you, mustn't it? I could only imagine what it's like being brought here again. Oh, and isn't that the place dear old Diggory died?" _

_ Harry couldn't help but follow Harris's line of sight to where Katie lay. He felt anger flush his system, but all it did was colour his cheeks. Harris turned his spiteful gaze back to Harry, who could do nothing but glare. _

_ "I've got something to show you, Potter." _

_ Fear uncoiled in his stomach as Harris slowly reached the cuff of his shirt, rolling it up with a grin. _

_ Harry's stomach dropped as he saw it. Dark and ugly against the skin, squirming in glee at his obvious distress. It was something he could never forget, nor would he want to. It branded people a traitor, a murderer, scum. And Harry couldn't believe how blind he had been. _

_ Harris wore the Dark Mark. _

* * *

"Shush, he's waking up. Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

The voice was like a rush of pure joy, ringing through him and drawing him quickly from the deep recesses of his mind. He opened his eyes and felt a faint smile tug at his lips.

"Hermione?"

The sight was so familiar it left him reeling. Hermione looking down at him, Ron leaning against the wall. The bright ceilings and a faint tang of medicine in the air. The crisp sheets. He could almost laugh.

Instead, Harry choked out a sob.

Hermione jumped forward and wound herself around his neck. He felt her shoulders being wracked with sobs and heard her babbling something incoherent into his neck. All he could do was hold her, squeezing the comfort from her and absorbing her strength. He felt a strong hand on his right shoulder and he knew Ron was there, offering his own strength. It was so ridiculous, lying in the Hospital Wing, being comforted by his best friends.

He never guessed it would ever happen again in his life. Just like he never expected to go back to that graveyard. It seemed like Fate was sneering at him, forcing him to relive his most bittersweet moments.

Harry gasped as he felt something catching him in the ribs. He frowned before Hermione pulled back, rubbing furiously at her ridiculously swollen belly.

Harry sniffed and gave her a small smile.

"He's got quite a kick," he said teasingly, although his voice was so rough and forced that he winced. Hermione smiled through her tears before looking down at her bump.

"She. We found out yesterday it's a girl."

Harry nodded as his eyes filled again. "That's amazing."

He turned to Ron whose eyes had gone suspiciously red, matching his flaming hair. Suddenly it was too much. Looking at Ron, he knew just how close he had come to losing everything.

A new wave of grief swept over him, and his friends were there again, lending their strength when words all but failed.

Ron and Hermione stayed with him, even when Pomfrey forced another sleeping potion down his gob. His dreams moulded together, forcing him to relive both horrendous experiences in the graveyard, one after the other until they moulded together and Harris was dancing around Voldemort.

Finally, he roused himself completely, unable to lie in his dosed-up state.

That was when Kingsley marched through the doors.

"Harry," he said apologetically, although he seemed uncomfortable. Harry had forced Hermione to go home, but she only did so when she made Ron promise to stay.

Ron was draped in a chair by his side, snoring loudly.

Harry nodded towards the other chair on his other side, which Kingsley looked at briefly but didn't take. Instead, he started pacing.

"Harry, I –"

"Did you get him? Did you get Harris?"

Kingsley's face darkened, but he nodded grimly. "Dementors got him. He's getting the Kiss."

Harry's one brief nod was all he had to convey his satisfaction. It was more mercy than the bastard deserved. Harry would have gladly flayed him alive.

"Katie's funeral is tomorrow if-"

Harry had to raise a hand to stop the man from talking because he couldn't find his voice. His tongue was heavy and his eyes burned, and it took all his strength to steady himself.

"I'm not coming back."

Kingsley started, staring at Harry as if he had confessed he was Voldemort.

"Harry, you cant just-"

"Oh yes, I fucking can. Don't you dare try and convince me back into that office. Don't you dare."

Harry's angered voice roused Ron from his sleep, leaving the redhead to look around blearily. He seemed to pick up on the immediate tension and drew his wand instinctively.

"What's going on?"

Kingsley turned to Ron as if noticing him for the first time.

"Potter's quitting."

Kingsley's tone was obviously seeking Ron's support in convincing Harry to stay with the Aurors, but Ron just nodded.

"Yeah. I don't blame him."

Harry shot his friend a grateful look before setting his icy gaze back to the Head Auror. But Kingsley wasn't done fighting.

"Harry, I know what happened was horrible but you can't just quit! What happened to the Saviour of the Wizarding World?"

Harry's face twisted into a sneer and there was a definite rush of magic in the air.

"He left when you let a Death Eater into the Aurors."

The insult stung and Harry saw a flash of anger in Kingsley's dark eyes.

"If you leave now, Potter, don't ever expect to be welcomed back."

Harry's look was all the confirmation the Head Auror needed. With a frustrated grunt, Kingsley turned and marched from the room. As soon as he saw the figure leave, Harry sagged into the mattress, suddenly overwhelmed.

The weight of Ron's hand on his shoulder was reassuring, and he let Ron's presence support him before a noise to his right drew his attention.

Harry's heart dropped as Ginny smiled at him sadly.

"Hello, Harry."

* * *

The wind billowed past him, soothing his heated skin as the sun bore down mercilessly. He glanced to the side where Ginny walked beside him silently.

Her hair was longer, almost past her shoulder blades and it was now lined with lighter tones of red. Her skin was now a becoming gold, spreading the freckles on her cheeks evenly and making her look even more beautiful. He felt his heart bounce uneasily inside him, but he stayed quiet, not knowing what to say.

The grounds of Hogwarts spread around him and he took a deep breath, feeling more settled than he had in days.

"So… how was Romania?"

She kept her eyes down as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Nice."

Harry felt himself sigh before looking out at the grounds again. They were walking slowly down the path that led to the lake, basking in the late summer sun. yet somehow, Harry felt a chill.

"Harry, I heard what happened."

His jaw tightened before he nodded curtly, not wanting to think about it.

"Are you… alright?"

He glanced upwards to see that she had stopped before him. Her eyes glittered, standing out like emeralds in the soft curves of her face. Her hair was windswept and he noticed that she had grown in the two years she had been away. The light white dress she wore hugged her comfortably and Harry was suddenly swept in a memory of a time when he craved comfort in her curved hips.

He looked away.

"I'm fine."

"Harry," she breathed, her tone touching his heart. Harry felt his resolve slip as he looked back up into her face. She hadn't changed. She was still his Ginny.

And for a moment, when his grief swept over him and he couldn't breathe, he let himself hold her like he used to. She was petite and warm and he could have so easily given into the breathy sighs. He felt her head angle in that familiar twist, and he knew that if he gave in he would be lost. So instead he stepped from her embrace, before being struck with a jolt of cold.

Ginny worried her lower lip but nodded as if she knew that she was pushing the boundaries.

So instead of talking about the horrors of his life, Harry steered the conversation to her adventures in Romania with Charlie and George. She talked about her brothers openly, but her features were marred with sadness when she mentioned George.

"He's… better. Learning to live with it."

Harry nodded and didn't stop her as she turned the conversation to Hermione. They talked about the pregnancy and even smiled when she gushed about the baby being a girl.

When they reached the lake, they found a space to sit. As the sun started to dip and Harry's head started to throb, Ginny got to her feet.

"Well, I should go."

He nodded and gave her a ghost of a smile. Before he could protest, Ginny leant up and gently kissed the corner of his mouth. Her eyes were sad as she ruffled his hair playfully.

"You'll be OK, Harry. You always are."

And even though the words should have been comforting, they left Harry feeling somewhat hollow.

* * *

"Yer been 'ere for two weeks now, 'Arry. What're yer going to do?"

Harry sighed before accepting the gargantuan mug from Hagrid. The hut smelled like it always did – wet dog, dirt and hay mixed with something sweet. He leant back in the chair, shrugging as Hagrid's bulk planted itself in the opposite chair.

"I don't know, Hagrid. I don't want to go back to London. Just thinking about it makes me…" He shrugged again.

Hagrid gave him a nod before taking a gulp of his tea. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the last of the summer heat.

Harry didn't know why he was still at Hogwarts. He didn't even really know why he had come in the first place. As soon as the Aurors had come to the graveyard, it had been too late to save Katie and Harry wasn't much better. When he saw Harris on his knees, he Apparated to the first place that came to mind.

Only when he looked up at the eagle statue guarding the stairs did he know where he was. The wards protecting Hogwarts were ringing loudly at his intrusion and he had been momentarily thrown. Then McGonagall was there and he was being ushered up the stairs to her office.

Harry took a calming gulp of the tea. It was sweet and had a hint of something that he couldn't quite place. Lavender? Jasmine?

"I quit my job."

Hagrid didn't look surprised as he regarded him. He just nodded, as if it was expected. The patient look under the bushy beard was a little unnerving, but then seeing Hagrid with silver streaks in his hair was unnerving. Harry still couldn't believe that it had been six years since Hogwarts was the centre of a war. Part of him had vowed never to return. There was too much death, too many memories. And yet, here he was.

He was damned to loathe and love the castle with every inch of his being.

And even at twenty-six years old, Harry was hiding in the school's embrace, almost as if he had never left.

Then, as if by some divine intervention, an idea came to his mind. He chugged his tea and muttered something incoherent to the Magical Creature's teacher before bolting from the hut and towards the towering walls that may hold the answer to Harry's longing.

"So you're saying that you want to stay?"

Harry nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists in quick succession. Now that he had voiced his idea out loud, the weight of their foolishness pressed on him.

"And do what, exactly?" asked the Headmistress calmly.

He shrugged. "Teaching, assisting – hell, I'll even help Filch."

That got a small smile from her, easing Harry's anxiety somewhat. Then her face dropped and hardened, and Harry felt his stomach sink.

"Harry…"

He watched her hopefully, attempting not to make himself look as desperate as he felt.

He didn't want to leave. Being back in the school's embrace, smelling the familiar scents, hearing the natural hum of magic in the walls, it was everything he wanted. Hogwarts had always felt like home, and only being away had made that realisation possible.

Maybe he was hiding from his life, but he'd be damned if he didn't think he deserved a little hiding.

He heard a small sigh from Minerva before she turned her stern look on him. Harry smiled as he saw the familiar lightening of her eyes, the small quip of her lips. He recognised that look.

"Fine. In all honesty, Neville is an atrocious Defence teacher and he's been edging towards the Herbology position for months now. All I have to do is try and get Poppy to share the position since 'retirement' isn't in her vocabulary."

Harry's smile cracked his jaw. Before he could really think about it, he had thrown himself at the Headmistress.

Minerva tolerated the attack for a brief moment before shooing him away.

She sat behind her desk, urging him to take the opposing seat, her face set for a serious business transition.

"Although teaching at this school isn't what it appears, Mr Potter. You have to know your subject through and through, learn to devise and plan lessons and homework. You need to be as dedicated to this job unlike any other. Are you prepared for that?"

Her eyes were serious, but Harry nodded. He was no stranger to complete devotion, a notion that apparently wasn't lost on the Ministry.

Minerva's eyes searched his for a moment before deciding something. She turned to the portrait to her immediate left. It was a rather portly woman who was sat at a table, drinking tea and talking to the dog by her ankle.

"Geneva, will you please get the potions master?"

The woman got resolutely to her feet before disappearing from the frame.

Harry studied her openly. He had wondered who the next potions master would be but decided that no one would be as ruthless or as thorough as Snape. Harry both recoiled and warmed to the memory.

That was until the door to the office swung open and a figure clad in black swooped in like a predator.

"Minerva, I told you that the potion wouldn't be-"

Their eyes locked and Harry felt his heart hit his ass.

"Potter?"

Harry set his jaw into a sneer. "Malfoy."


	2. Ploy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!

"This is utterly ridiculous."

Harry silently agreed as his heavy footsteps dragged him ever slower to his unmistakable doom. He let his eyes shoot daggers into Malfoy's back as they walked, hoping that the blond twit felt the scrutiny.

He looked similar to the boy he had glimpsed six years ago, and yet completely different. Malfoy's hair wasn't slicked back but hung loosely, coming short at his ears. He still walked with that damned Slytherin arrogance and his face still held that disdainful grimace. But again, something was slightly off about him.

"Your eyes are burning a hole in my skull, Potter. Please refrain from glaring."

Harry narrowed his eyes but turned his attention away from the menace.

He felt himself start as he noticed just how far into the dungeons that they had come. No doubt Malfoy was taking him to the lowest part of the castle so that he could kill him and dispose of Harry's body whilst claiming that he just got lost and died of starvation.

"Wow, hear those wheels turning," muttered the blonde before stopping abruptly and throwing open a seemingly random door.

The potions master gestured impatiently for Harry to enter, which he reluctantly did.

It appeared to be a small office, dimly lit by sconces on the wall that had a surreal green tint to them. The back walls were brimming with shelves and potions while a desk sat just in front. It was a smooth wood, dark, and yet somehow out of sorts. On the top were neat stacks of books and scrolls, a quill and inkpot, and other bits and bobs he didn't quite understand.

To the right of the room was a small brewing area, consisting of a multitude of contraptions that Harry didn't have the first clue of what they were for.

Malfoy closed the door with a defining thump and stalked to the chair behind the desk. With one quick flick of his wrist, a chair appeared. Harry hissed. A heavy chair.

He glowered at Malfoy as he dislodged his foot from under one of the legs. Malfoy feigned ignorance, clearing some of the clutter on the desk by graciously scooping it into a drawer.

"Now, Potter. Oh, do sit down instead of hovering like a blithering idiot."

The insult wasn't particularly stinging, and for some twisted reason, it broke the tension in his shoulders. Familiarity over uncertainty, it seemed.

Harry sat.

For long, tense minutes, the two of them openly glared at each other. Well, Harry glared, Malfoy chose an indifferent look. Harry couldn't quite place the glint in the blonde's bright eyes, but it definitely unnerved him.

Finally, Malfoy sighed.

"So you're wanting to be a teacher?"

Harry bit back a remark and just nodded.

"Well it's not easy, I'll tell you that."

Harry felt his eye twitch as he took in Malfoy's tone. He couldn't quite place it. He kept his mouth shut while he continued to study the man before him. Was Malfoy trying to be… nice?

"What?" he finally demanded, looking into Harry's eyes.

"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "Just trying to figure it out."

"Figure what out?" snapped Malfoy. Harry smirked, feeling surer in himself now he knew Malfoy was still the prat he once knew.

"Your ploy."

Malfoy sighed heavily as if he was dealing with an insubordinate child.

"What ploy?"

"This ploy," said the ex-Auror, gesturing to the office. Malfoy gave him an impatient sneer and Harry found himself wanting to grin.

"What the hell are you on about, Potter?"

Harry leant forward in his chair.

"Just trying to figure out what a Death Eater is doing sitting pretty in a place supposedly despised by purebloods."

He saw Malfoy visibly wince at the mention of his former status before his eyes turned to steel.

Harry wasn't finished.

"Keeping your enemies close, Malfoy? Making sure you've got the inside scoop if things take a favourable turn?"

Harry felt his bitterness arise as he remembered being back in that graveyard. Seeing those Death Eaters appearing again, summoned in a circle. Was Malfoy there? He knew that some of them got away.

"No." The one word was like an icicle to the face and Harry smiled spitefully.

"Sure. Whatever you say. For the life of me, I have no idea why McGonagall would hire the likes of you."

Something flittered over Malfoy's sharp features before a look of utter hatred burned in his eyes. Harry suddenly got the itch to reach for his wand. He watched as Malfoy seemed to reel himself in and compose himself again.

He stood in one fluid motion, walking briskly to the door and opening it.

"I see that this was pointless. Leave, Potter."

The blonde's voice was hollow and the sound rang in Harry's chest. He didn't let it touch the anger he still felt towards Malfoy and his kind. They were scum, all of them, and he would never have anything to do with them again.

Harry got to his feet so quickly that the chair was knocked over. Without another glance at the cold grey eyes, he turned on his heel and stormed into the corridor.

* * *

Draco slammed the door and was satisfied at the echoing crack that ricocheted around his small office.

What a complete and utter twat! How dare he come into Draco's office and treat him like a common criminal? And that burning intensity in his eyes… that was new. Draco had never seen that level of hatred in Potter's eyes, even when the Dark Lord came back.

At the thought of him, Draco's Dark Mark itched against his skin.

He ground his jaw and rubbed the Mark, letting his anger swell within him. He sat himself down in the chair heavily and winced as a jolt of pain slivered up his spine. He chastised himself while rubbing smoothly.

Damn it all.

Potter wasn't exactly the vision he had expected when he answered McGonagall's summons.

But he kept to his word. He went there. He was polite. He was even going to offer Potter a drink before the bastard turned on him like a bloody viper. Draco shuddered as those eyes came back to mind.

There was no Virtuous Chosen One left in Potter now.

Something had changed, something broken. Draco knew that look. He'd seen it on his father's face the day he was finally undone.

It was the day that Lucius had killed Draco's mother. The day he broke Draco's back.

A wave of nausea hit him and Draco had to summon all of his Slytherin training to bring his emotions back under control. It was something that he thought he had down to a T. Until fucking Potter showed up.

Seeing that stupid mop of black hair and those burning green eyes again… it dug up memories thought he had buried. The war was over. Draco had managed to drag himself from the ashes and make a new life.

Draco scoped his office and wondered on the fact that he had been there for four years now. It was what he referred to as home now, despite the drabble he had to work with. And now Potter had joined the ranks.

He groaned before summoning a house-elf for tea.

As he brought the china to his lips, Draco ignored the way the flimsy thing rattled against the saucer.

* * *

"I won't work with him."

McGonagall sighed before rubbing her forehead. Harry paced the office, his annoyance obvious in the way his heels dug into the carpet.

"Mr Potter, please. You'll burn out my new rug."

Harry caught himself and stopped, turning his attention to McGonagall. He grabbed the back of the chair he'd been offered and gripped it until his knuckles started to protest.

"Nor will my chairs thank you." Her protests fell on deaf ears as Harry continued his rant.

"What is he doing here, Professor? Sorry, Headmistress. Why is Malfoy working at Hogwarts?"

Minerva studied Harry's dark eyes for a moment before letting her shoulders slump slightly. She leant forward, gesturing again for Harry to sit. This time he did, although the way he fidgeted she could tell it was with great effort.

"Mr Malfoy has been a professor here for the past four years, Mr Potter. He's more than proven himself. Although my reasons are my own, and if you cannot respect my judgement than perhaps you're not as serious about this job as I thought."

Minerva suppressed a smile as she saw Harry's jaw set stubbornly.

"Fine. If there's one person I trust, it's you, Headmistress. But I don't have to like it."

This time she did smile.

"Very good. I can see you are no longer the boy you once were, Harry. I hope that you can find it in you to at least tolerate Draco, even if it's only professionally."

Harry nodded but didn't meet her eyes. There was a small flutter in her stomach at the prospect of Potter and Malfoy working together, but she hoped both of them had changed for the better.

"I believe you know Winky?"

Harry turned quickly, catching sight of the small house-elf standing by the door. She gave Harry a meek wave.

"She'll show you to your rooms. And Harry," she added as he got to his feet. He gave her a questioning glance. "Call me Minerva."

Harry smiled before bowing his head slightly. She watched as he followed Winky out of the office before breathing out a long breath.

If anything, this year was certainly not going to be boring.

"Mister Harry Potter is being a teacher here?"

Harry smiled sadly, nodding his head as the house-elf bobbed along next to him. He hadn't seen Winky in years, and guiltily realised he hadn't even thought about her after the war.

"So Mister Harry Potter is staying at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, I hope to. How are you, Winky? Are you happy at Hogwarts?"

She nodded, although her big eyes got a faraway look to them.

"Winky is missing Dobby, but Winky is liking Hogwarts. Winky is being better now she isn't drinking."

He chuckled lightly. "Good for you, Winky. I'm glad."

Winky looked up at him and gave him a small smile.

Harry followed the small house-elf through the castle and up to the west wings where he had never been before. He found himself surprised as he had never noticed the corridor that led through into the wing, even though he could remember going up the staircase when he was younger. Harry rubbed his forehead, deciding that he didn't even want to try and understand the intricacies of the castle. It would only drive him mad.

So instead he allowed himself to be led through the wing. Winky pointed out a slope that led to a small courtyard where 'the professors are going to relax'.

The walls were decorated with beautiful tapestries and landscape pictures, depicting scenes of serenity. He smirked, knowing that they probably helped the teachers keep their sanity when the students wreaked havoc on their patience. He decided that he liked this wing, probably because it was private and warm.

Finally, after a short climb up a spiral staircase, Harry stopped before a large wooden door. He held back a laugh as he saw 'Professor Harry Potter' sprawled neatly across the surface in gold letters. Well, apparently it was now official. He guessed that there would be so much more to it than that, but it was a start.

However, Harry wasn't ready for what greeted him as the door swung open. Not in the slightest.

"Winky… this can't possibly be all for me."

"These are being Mister Harry Potter's rooms, yes. It is what Winky is being told."

Harry let out the breath he was holding in one rush, looking at the room again and again and yet not believing it.

The door opened into a room that rivalled his whole flat. The centre of the room dipped a couple of steps, making a small living room. There were two couches, three armchairs and a small coffee table surrounding a huge fireplace. Bookshelves lined the back wall, along with grand windows and low hanging drapes. To his right was a small corridor and quick check showed a door at the end and one door to the side. To the left was a flat wall holding three doors, and then lead down to what he glimpsed was some kind of kitchen. He wandered inside, dazed, before following the right corridor.

The door at the end led to a huge bathroom. There were smaller windows on the walls and the centre was hollowed by a gigantic tub that was three times bigger than the prefect's tubs. There were two sinks on the far wall and a toilet in its own little cubicle. The door next to the bathroom was what he guessed a study, but the size of it made Harry dubious. It had another fireplace, but smaller. The walls were lined with bookcases which were nearly empty and it had set of drawers that were filled with parchment, ink, quills and empty journals. Harry swept his eyes around the room again, glad that the chair looked comfy as he had a sneaking suspicion that he would be spending an obscene amount of time there.

The other doors revealed a gigantic master bedroom with more couches, a bed big enough to easily fit six people on, wardrobes and drapes, with a small on suite bathroom. There was another small bedroom (although what he needed it for he wasn't sure), a balcony with a small table and chairs on it, a storage cupboard with a broom holder, and a small kitchen. Winky showed him how to use the stove as it was gas powered rather than electrical, and she showed him where all the dishes and utilities were kept.

"But if Mister Harry Potter is needing food, he is summoning Winky and Winky is bringing it to him."

He nodded his thanks at her determined tone, although he doubted that he'd call her for just a cup of tea.

As she waved her goodbye, Harry let out a tired sigh. He wondered over to the couch, which was a deep burgundy. He found it funny that the colour scheme was eerily similar to the Gryffindor Tower. Probably McGonagall's form of a joke.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Harry glanced over at the fireplace. He saw a small box on the mantle, and with another sigh, he got to his feet. Might as well get the worst over and done with, he thought, taking a handful of Floo powder and chucking it into the flames.

* * *

"There's nothing I can do, Headmistress. He doesn't want to listen to me."

Draco clasped his hands behind his back, suppressing the urge to squirm under McGonagall's piercing gaze. He had no reason to feel guilty, really. It wasn't his fault that Potter was a stubborn idiot.

She seemed to read this in his eyes before her shoulders slumped in defeat. She gave a casual wave to the chair, and Draco eyed it dubiously.

After a moment he sat but schooled his features so they didn't show his discomfort.

"Mr Potter has been through hell in the past couple of weeks, and now the  _ Prophet _ has just got wind of it. You'll no doubt see it in the papers in the morning."

Draco sneered. "It's not as if he's the only one that's suffered."

McGonagall's eyes got that soft, pitiful look in them and Draco had to turn away. He shifted in his chair which caused a twinge of pain to cut his lower back. He glared at his feet, knowing that McGonagall must have seen him wince. Well, he'd be damned if he'd take any pity from her. Or anyone.

"I know, Draco," she said softly. He sent his glare to her but was taken aback by her small smile. Draco snapped his mouth shut and turned his gaze downward again, hating the way he felt tears prick his eyes.

"Just give him time. He'll come around." Draco snorted.

"Sure he will. It's fine, Minerva. I'll try again in a day or two. Merlin knows Potter needs all the help he can get."

Minerva nodded and Draco got quickly to his feet, although he had to grab the chair to stop his knees from buckling. Recovering quickly, he gave the old professor a nod before marching from the office. He should probably get a pain potion in his system before it got too obvious.

He moved quickly to his office/lab, chugged a potent potion and then gave a small huff of relief as blissful numbness spread through his veins.

Draco rubbed his lower back, glad that it had stopped aching and then turned to his personal bookshelf. He studied the spines of the tomes before the edition he was after came to light. He grabbed it and flipped the cover, checking it was what he needed. Deciding that it would do, Draco started the gruelling task of navigating the castle.

Luckily the trek had gotten more familiar over the years. It was somehow different from when he was a student. Maybe because of the war, the battle. He had hated every minute of it. The school was always going to be a monument against the Dark Lord. It symbolised too much that was Harry Potter, but he had still been broken when he had to watch the walls crumble. He barely got a glimpse of it, but it was enough. He had defied the Dark Lord, lied to Death Eaters and no doubt had a price on his head. For a moment, he went to Hogwarts – to help, maybe. But then he realised that no one would fight beside him. He would be a target on both ends. So he had fled.

Draco gave a humourless smile.

How ironic then that he had chosen to come back. He didn't really have much of a choice, after the accident. Well, the  _ incident _ .

He shuddered as the ghost of his memories swept through him, spiking him with imaginary pain. It was enough to cause his eyes to water and to set his bad mood off again. He stomped through the Staff Hallway until he finally found Potter's room.

Two quick raps and a scrambling later, the door was wrenched open – and Draco gasped.

Potter looked as if he had just woken up. His muggle t-shirt was rumbled and half tucked in, his jeans were riding low giving the blonde a glimpse of blue boxers. Draco wrenched his eyes up and into Potter's face, which was an even worse mistake. He hadn't really looked at the Saviour since their little spat a couple of days ago. They had avoided each other like the plague.

When had Potter become… a man? His cheeks weren't puffy anymore. Now his chin was sharp and defined, his nose didn't look like a potato now but had a sleek curve to it. His hair was still a mess, sticking in all directions but it was longer and it swept over his eyes in some kind of graceful chaos. And his eyes. Dear Merlin, were they always so bright? Without his specs, they stood out like an emerald amongst stone.

For the first time in his life, Draco was completely and utterly speechless.

"What, Malfoy?"

Draco blinked. Potter's tone was clipped, and enough to bring him out of his momentary paralysis. He managed to school his features into what he hoped was a sneer before thrusting the book roughly into Potter's chest. He turned on his heel, not bothering to look back and see if he'd caught it or not.

As he made quick work of walking to his room, Draco closed the door quickly and then leant against the smooth wood. His cheeks felt hot, his breathing was fast.

"What the fuck was that?" he breathed, rubbing his face furiously.

Potter was  _ not _ attractive. Absolutely not. At all.

_ Fuck. _


	3. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews!! Leave some comments and make my day :-)

Harry examined the tome in his hands. The leather was worn, obviously well used. The spine was cracked, and it protested as he slowly opened the cover. His eyebrows hit his hairline when he read the title.

_ Advising, Teaching and Grading: A Guide to Enlightening the Young. _

Malfoy’s name was sprawled across the top in what he thought was a ludicrously beautiful way. Who wrote like that, anyway?

_ Someone with personal calligraphy tutors. _ He snorted and shut the door, wondering back into his small living room. The chapter contents ranged through everything involving teaching. It went from how to talk to students, to how to instruct them critically and back through how to set and grade essays. He was impressed.

Then it was followed by a wave of guilt. He really had been an arse to Malfoy. Part of him just couldn’t believe that the prat would help him, even under instruction to do so. 

Maybe he really  _ had  _ changed?

Harry shook his head and sunk onto the couch. He’d been doing that most days, just mooching on the settee. It was easier than actually doing anything. The  _ Prophet _ was hounding him for an interview about his last mission and ‘where it all went wrong’. They’d been posting a load of trollop lately, speculating that Harry was somehow involved or that he wasn’t telling people something.

That was true, though. He hadn’t told people the whole story. But, how could he? How could he look into someone’s eyes and tell them that he was a monster?

A new determination to be better burned behind his eyes, forcing him to scan the first page of the book.

By the time Winky appeared to serve him dinner, the book was open halfway. He uncurled and stretched like a cat, wincing as his back protested. Then, feeling more confident in himself, he tore into his steak and kidney pie.

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed quickly. Harry spent most of it in his room, reading, writing, learning. He didn’t realise just how much bloody work there would be to become a teacher.

He had to plan different theory and practical lessons, essay topics and lesson plans. That wasn’t even including different aspects of defence for different years. He found seventh years easiest to plan, mostly because they’d pretty much done everything else, so he just had to teach them the hardest spells. In the notes that Winky brought him from the previous teachers, Harry managed to make rough drafts of the lessons, and he smiled to himself when he found a few scraps of Lupin’s notes. Then he felt the grief hit him in the stomach. 

That night he owled Andromeda, asking to see Teddy. The boy was getting big.

A few days later, he got a knock at his door. Dragging on some kind of presentable clothing, Harry walked leisurely to the door and opened it before his jaw hit the stone floor.

“Hello, Harry.”

“My God, Neville!”

Harry reached over and wrapped the lanky man in a tight hug, revelling in the familiarity of a recognisable face. He hadn’t seen Neville in years. He ushered the man into his rooms, only to stop when Neville kicked his feet.

He stopped and turned to Neville with a quirked brow, to which the man smiled shyly, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Sorry mate, I’m just coming by to say hello. We’ve just got back from Malta and Luna’s waiting for me at her dad’s.”

Harry smiled politely, but he couldn’t shake the sinking in his stomach. It would have been nice to catch up with the man, just to have a bit of company for a change. He had been busy over the past few weeks, but everyone needed a break. Hermione and Ron were busy with the baby coming in a couple of weeks, and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Weasleys’. It was getting close to the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and, well… he knew they needed their space. 

There wasn’t really anyone else he wanted to talk to. 

So, he’d been hiding – but he imagined the word of ‘Professor’ Harry Potter was getting around. And if Neville’s knowing smile was anything to go by, he was dead on. 

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a teacher,” gushed Neville suddenly, like he’d been bursting to say it. Harry chuckled before nodding. turning and pointing to the front of his door and the gold letters sprawled over them.

“Name’s on the door, means it’s official.”

Neville laughed freely, and Harry couldn’t help but smile back. The man looked good. He’d gotten pretty gaunt for a while after the war, but he’d found solace in Luna and Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen a couple so happy. He adored her washy ways and she adored the goodness in him. Even if he did have ‘so many wrackspurts’. 

It only took a few moments, but the two professors sobered up and Neville turned to him with the saddened expression that Harry had been waiting for. 

“So… you alright, Harry?”

Harry gave Neville a tight smile before he shifted uneasily from foot to foot, nodding sharply. 

“I will be. I’ve been through worse.”

Neville pursed his lips, his soft eyes turning glassy for a moment, but he nodded. 

“Yeah… well, listen. Term starts in a couple of weeks and I know it’s quite scary but if you like, I’ll come back the week before and we can go through some stuff. Hey – why don’t you come over for a roast on Sunday? I know Luna would love to see you.”

Harry was still holding the doorframe and he glanced down, briefly regaining some composure, before he lifted his head with a small smile. 

“That sounds great, Neville. I’d love to.”

Neville’s answering smile wasn’t as big as his first, but it was genuine, and it meant a lot to the former Auror. The herbologist reached up and squeezed Harry’s shoulder before he gave him one last lingering glance. 

They said their goodbyes and Harry closed the door, sighing into the empty rooms. 

He’d thought that he needed space away from people – and he had – but now he didn’t want to feel quite so alone. He was more confident in his teaching plans, although he wasn’t particularly prepared for the theory. 

Deciding on a walk to clear his head, Harry shoved his feet into some shoes and grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders and starting the long walk towards Hagrid’s hut. 

* * *

Draco rolled his shoulders as his eyes fluttered closed for the hundredth time. The book laying flat in his palm had been sat open on page 223 for the past half an hour. He’d come out here to relax, to enjoy some late summer sunshine, but instead he’d just felt… off. 

He hadn’t spoken to Potter for weeks – and not like he’d ever openly admit it – but he’d been pointedly avoiding him.

The man never came to the great hall for meals, so he knew that was a safe place to go. Come to think about it, the Golden Prat didn’t really come out of his rooms at all. He’d seen him a week back, walking down the empty halls with Minerva, but they’d both been so deep in their discussion that they hadn’t noticed him turn sharply and go in the opposite direction. 

It was quite pathetic, in all honesty. Draco didn’t even really understand it. 

Minerva had asked Draco to help Potter with acclimatizing to teaching, but the man had made it very clear that he didn’t need, nor did he want, Draco’s help. He supposed, on some level, he could understand. They’d been rivals since day one, and with everything that happened in the war… 

Draco shivered at the memories, but the movement only sent a jolt of pain up his spine and he jerked, the book falling out of his hands. The Potions Master opened his eyes and sent a glare on the sprawled leather-bound book on the ground by his foot, knowing that if he tried to move during a spasm like this then it would set his whole back out. All he could do was sit in his incompetence until the muscles finally gave in and relaxed. 

Draco let out a harsh breath before he slowly, steadily reached forward and scooped up the book, unfolding a few bent pages and closing the cover with a soft thump. 

Just as he was about to get up, a movement caught his peripheral vision and he glanced up, only to be caught off guard by what he saw. 

Potter stood at the base of the small stone walkway that lead down from the east tower grounds and towards the pumpkin patch. He knew where the man was going, and he was surprised that Potter hadn’t kept walking. 

Instead, he was just standing there, looking rigid and surprised, staring. At Draco. 

The Potions Master cocked one platinum eyebrow, and Potter lowered his head, looking like he was mumbling something to himself. Draco wanted to sneer at just how imbecilic the man looked, but he just couldn’t muster it. Those were old habits that he’d long let go, and he would never prove that to anyone if he fell back into them so easily. 

Instead, he continued to sit on the small, worn bench, watching Potter as much as he was watching Draco. 

He was uncertain what Potter decided, but the man turned on his heel and started forward. Towards him. 

Draco straightened his spine, feeling that sharp pulling again and he winced, inwardly cursing himself. There was no way that he would be able to get up with the spasm taking over him,  _ again _ , but he quickly smoothed out his expression and watched Potter steadily as the man came to a stop in front of him. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco nodded his head slightly. “Potter.”

There were a few heartbeats of incredibly awkward silence, where Potter seemed to be having an internal battle and Draco was waiting for the pain in his back to stop. 

Finally, Potter heaved a great sigh. 

“Look, I… I wanted to thank you for – for the book you gave me.”

Draco felt his eyebrows go up a little, but he quickly squashed it down. 

“Well considering I was asked by the Headmistress to aid you, your thanks should be with her.”

Potter blinked, shaking his long dark fringe from his face. Draco caught a glimpse of those bright eyes before he turned away. 

“Still. I appreciate it.”

Draco drew his eyebrows together, setting his sharp eyes on the other. Potter no doubt felt some semblance of guilt for the way he’d been acting, and Draco wanted to make a smart comment about Gryffindor values, but he refrained. 

“Then… you’re welcome.”

Potter looked up, surprised for some reason. He saw those green eyes flitting from side to side, clearly attempting to undo whatever farce he thought Draco to be playing and coming up short. Draco wanted to smirk smugly, but that would completely defeat the object. 

Potter nodded, once, and then again, before he slowly turned and took a step away. Draco let a momentary flutter of pain pass over his features as he faced Potter’s back but went rigid again as Potter turned almost immediately back to face him. Pain shot harder down his spine, and he knew he would be paying for his jerky movements later. But despite the pain, he was still a Malfoy. Malfoy’s did not show weakness, even if he was trying to be… nicer. 

“Listen, Malfoy –”

Draco would have snickered if he wasn’t in so much pain at the look on Potter’s face. Oh, it was  _ painful _ to see how awkward the man was around him, and how much he was kicking his feet at actually talking to him. Draco wasn’t sure if something showed on his features, but Potter’s eyes narrowed, and he got that godawful pout on his face like the first time he’d seen him in Minerva’s office. 

“Yes…?” prompted Draco after a few moments of silence. 

Potter ground his teeth before he slumped, seemingly defeated. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got more of those books, have you?”

Draco blinked, turning his head thoughtfully. 

“Not… personally. I could recommend some to you. Why… are you having trouble, Potter?”

So, he couldn’t resist adding a slight teasing to his tone as he asked the question, and just like the good old days, Potter rose to it like floo powder to the flames. His cheeks turned a dark pink and he narrowed his eyes. He could see a hissing fit right on the tip of Potter’s tongue, and no matter how much fun it would be to rile him up like he used to – they had to get past this. 

Draco raised a slender hand before the Golden Prat could make a scene. 

“Calm down, Potter,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Still as hot-headed as ever, I see.” Potter’s eyes darkened, and Draco realised he wasn’t helping the situation. “I shall visit the library on your behalf and see what I can find. I’ll bring them to you later. Will that help?”

Potter was completely on the defensive, his shoulders squared, and Draco made sure he kept his face neutral – even  _ friendly _ if it was possible. 

The tense moments that followed were heavy, and Draco wanted to scoff. It was ridiculous, this stand-off they were having, with Potter fighting his temper and Draco trying to keep his features as open as he could. He wanted to fidget but didn’t want to irritate his back. Potter looked like he wanted to throw a couple of hexes. It was childish, and part of him just wanted them to be over this. They would never be great friends, but they at least had to come to some kind of alliance if they were going to be working together for the foreseeable future. 

DATDA and potions were subjects that were quite intricately linked. A fighter was only as good as the spells they used, and sometimes in battle, there was need of potions. Healing tonics, enhancing brews, power poultices… Linking their subjects in some areas would benefit the students – although he hadn’t mentioned this to Potter. He doubted anyone had, considering he seemed so on edge within himself, they probably didn’t want to push him over. Hopefully, it was something he could suggest when Potter didn’t look like he was expecting Draco to  _ avada kadavra  _ him at any given moment. 

“Okay,” said Potter finally. Draco could see his shoulders had released some tension, but his eyes were still on full alert. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t, instead just bowing his head in acknowledgement. Potter wasn’t hanging around this time, grunting a little before he turned again on his heel, but this time disappeared down the walkway. 

Draco let out a long sigh, bringing up a hand to rub his eyes. He had a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, and he knew he had to get something strong in his system right now otherwise he would be bed-bound for the next week. 

Braving the spasm, Draco braced his hand on the back of the bench and heaved himself slowly to his feet. The shock of pain left him breathless as though he’d been punched in the gut. He groaned and doubled over, hand tightening on the bench and limbs trembling as he fought the wave of nausea that accompanied the pain. God, he was pathetic. 

Draco felt his lower lip tremble, but he breathed through it like Poppy had taught him. 

It was fucking horrible, those few moments of pure agony – almost like he was reliving the whole thing again.  _ Pain in the chest from the brunt of the spell, colliding with the wall, feeling his body snap and crumble under his skin. No breath. No sight. Nothing but the pain.  _

He closed his eyes and waited. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , it started to dim. The electric burning started to fade, and he could take a full breath. He could open his eyes. The bright green grass greeted him, not the broken and cracked marble of the manor floor. It anchored him, the sweet tang of flowers in the air and the soft breeze that ran against his flushed skin. It was enough. 

Draco managed to reach into his pocket for his wand, and without moving anything but his arm, he Apparated right into his office. He gave a sharp grunt as he collided with his desk, but he braced himself against it. 

Minerva had given him permission to Apparate inside the grounds for when he was completely immobilised. 

Draco used his wand to unlock the trunk at the far end of the room and he _accioed_ a small green vial. He caught it with a wince, pulling out the cork with his teeth and chugging back the thick goo without any hesitation. 

The pain potion worked almost immediately, sending waves of warmth down his muscles and to his very toes. 

He moaned as his back muscles were forced to relax and the pain was drowned out by the strength of the potion. It left a coppery taste on his tongue and dried out his mouth, but he was used to it by now. Draco wanted to sit, but the dizziness that accompanied the potion was already coming over him and he knew if he tried to move then he would just collapse. 

The potion,  _ Dolofortis _ , was usually only acquired by prescription as it was the strongest form of pain relief available in wizarding England. However, this was his own adaption of the brew considering no one in St Mungo’s would see him, and he didn’t want to use any of his father’s old contacts. He’d found a medicinal recipe book in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts’ library. It had the base of the potion and he’d kind of just added to it himself. No doubt he’d get fined if anyone knew he brewed his own painkiller, but he didn’t really care. When it got like this there was no way to control it and no one would operate on him to fix his spine. 

Draco felt his body sway even though his eyes were focused on a lop-sided stone in the wall. He could feel his head getting heavy, his limbs going limp. Draco raised his wand and muttered under his breath, transfiguring his chair into a small bed right by his legs. The potions master let go of his body and slumped onto the mattress in one awkward motion, curling around and onto his side. 

Just an hour, to sleep off the initial effects of the potion. The was all he needed. 

* * *

Draco moaned as he turned from his side onto his back, bracing for the pain… which didn’t come. He sighed and reached up to brush his hair from his face. His wand was still taught in his right hand and as he opened his bleary eyes, he saw the soft green glow that his scones gave out. 

He must have been asleep for a bit longer than an hour. 

Although as he cast a  _ tempus _ charm, his silver eyes widened. 

_ 3:18 AM. _

“Shit!”

Draco scrambled up and onto his feet, catching his foot between the transfigured bed and his desk. He collided heavily with the floor and groaned, still half-asleep. 

“Stupid fucking thing,” he grumbled, gathering himself and getting to his feet. No doubt Potter thought him full of shit, and he would have been half right at this point. Trying to show Potter that he had changed meant nothing if he practically ignored everything he said he would do. 

The potion was still working, so he was able to get to the library fairly swiftly. The castle was eerily quiet and where that would have been scary for some, to Draco it was comforting. He waved his wand to light the candles in the great library before he made his way to the far back. The potions master didn’t have the time to sort through everything, so he sliced his wand to the side. “ _ Accio  _ _ doctrina librorum _ .”

Draco waited, listening to a few ruffles here and there until he saw a rush of something to his left. He barely managed a small yelp before he ducked, and a book went flying past his head. It hit the wall with a dusty thump and he frowned before a couple more suicidal tomes launched themselves near him. He clucked his tongue, inwardly chastising himself for putting so much strength into his spell. 

Still muttering under his breath, Draco scooped up the books and gathered them in his arms before he started over towards the Teacher’s Wing. He probably couldn’t go knocking on Potter’s door in the middle of the night, and no doubt the prat would have a few choice words for him. 

He sighed wistfully before he stopped just outside Potter’s door. As he leaned down to put the books by the door, he caught the flickering of soft light just under the crack. There was an odd moment when he was frozen, caught between knocking and walking. 

It would be weird though, wouldn’t it? Knocking on at 3 AM? Then again, he didn’t want Potter to think him the smarmy git he used to be. 

And wasn’t that an odd desire?

Draco must have made some kind of noise – a grunt, a sigh,  _ something _ – because as he was debating with himself, the door was wrenched open and soft candlelight streamed onto his hunched figure. The Potions Master looked up, his eyes a little wide, and his lips parted in surprise. 

“Uh… good evening?”

Potter looked just as surprised as he did, and Draco could see from his rumpled appearance that he must have been asleep as well. 

“Malfoy?” muttered Potter, his voice deep and slightly roughened by sleep. Draco felt his mouth go dry, and this time he wasn’t entirely sure it was the potion. 

The two of them just stood there – well, Malfoy bending there – for what felt like an age. He wasn’t sure whether it was the surprise, the hour, or the semi-consciousness, but Potter’s face seemed to… soften, a little, and he pushed the door wider. 

“Do you... wanna come in?”


	4. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, but hopefully the next one will be longer! Let me know what you think! Much love

Harry couldn’t say that he’d expected to see Draco Malfoy doubled over in front of his door, juggling an armful of books which looked like they were about to tumble onto the floor. He’d barely got his vision straight after rousing on his sofa, hearing a small scratch and scuffling outside his door. He’d expected maybe Peeves, or some unknown critter digging at the door. 

Not Malfoy. 

He’d been so taken aback, and Malfoy looked just as surprised. He had his head cocked up towards the warm light of his rooms, his quicksilver eyes shining and his lips slightly parted. 

Harry had done what any half asleep person would do - he invited him in. 

If anything, Malfoy looked like Harry had just sprouted another head as he slowly brought himself up, wrapping his arms tighter around the books. The longer they stared at each other, the more awake Harry became, and the Saviour was expecting Malfoy to sneer at him and decline the offer. Instead Malfoy leaned forward slightly, peering through the door as though he were trying to decipher some kind of trap. 

Harry just cocked an eyebrow, still watching him steadily. 

Malfoy leaned back, sniffing hautily, before he stepped through the threshold. Harry turned to the door, giving it a defeated look, before he pushed it closed. He didn’t move from his spot though, keeping the door to his back in some kind of twisted defence mechanism. 

“So… what brings you to my rooms at - what even if the time?”

Malfoy spun on his heel, his mouth half open but Harry had already taken his wand from his pocket and cast a quick  _ tempus _ . 

His eyebrows hit his hairline when he saw it was nearly quarter to four in the morning. Malfoy was standing perfectly still, his face an open picture of what Harry could only describe as guilt. 

“Uh - I, I ah,” started the potions master, before he cleared his throat and Harry watched as the perfectly constructed mask settled over the man’s features as his body got straighter. He fell back into the familiar demeanor, but Harry couldn’t help thinking that he prefered the shocked Malfoy better. At least that one had a bit of emotion about him. 

“Here,” he said, throwing out his arms and letting the books hang in his palm. Harry frowned, cocking his head a little before his face smoothed out in recognition. 

“Oh the books,” he muttered after a moment, moving forward to accept them. Malfoy withdrew his arms as though he’d been burned, and Harry watched him curiously. 

“You could have given them to me in the morning, Malfoy,” said Harry softly, turning the tomes over in his hands before running his fingers over the ancient looking binding. 

Malfoy shrugged, turning up his nose a little. 

“Well, I offered to find you the books and lest I wanted you to think me a liar, I had to deliver them. I admit that I got a little preoccupied, but I was determined to keep my word.”

Harry blinked, looking from Malfoy to the books, back up to Malfoy again. 

“Huh.”

In all honesty, he hadn’t expected Malfoy to bring him anything. He’d actually forgotten that the man had even offered to find him some more, considering he’d been a prat when he’d offered. Harry had gone from where he saw Malfoy, down to Hagrid, who pumped him full of godawful tea and good stories that the Saviour had all but forgotten in encounter with the blonde twit. 

“Well… thank you?”

Harry saw Malfoy nod sharply, but he didn’t move from where he was hovering. The man was holding himself slightly hunched over, as though he was leaning on the balls of his feet. He looked like he was about to take flight at any moment, and as Harry wandered past him to put the books on the table, he saw those silver eyes watching him wistfully, as though they were holding something back on the tip of the tongue. 

Yet Malfoy didn’t say a word; just continued to stand there. 

Awkward was the first thing that went through his head, so he did what he usually did when he was in an awkward situation. Harry went to his little kitchenette and filled up the kettle. 

“Tea?”

Malfoy turned to him so quickly that Harry half expected him to topple over. But no, Malfoy’s did not stumble, and the man caught himself effortlessly. Harry could feel eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, but he ignored it as he turned on the stove and placed the kettle on the burner. Only then did he turn, leaning his back against the counter and crossing his arms. 

The blonde was still watching him curiously, and Harry couldn’t help but realise how surreal this felt. 

“If you would rather go back to bed, I can leave,” he said, the slight hunch of his shoulder the only giveaway that he felt just as awkward as Harry did. The Saviour gave Malfoy a small smile, shaking his head. 

“Nah, I’m awake now. But you don’t have to stay, you know.”

Malfoy slowly twisted his arms behind his back and shrugged again, turning his head to the side. 

“I would prefer a cup of tea.”

Merlin, the man just kept surprising him tonight. Not only showing up at this hour, but he could see Malfoy was trying to be polite. It was an odd thing, Malfoy and politeness. He was proving a point though, Harry could tell that much, so he let the man be. He turned back to the kettle as it started to whistle.  _ Thank Merlin for magical stoves. _

Harry was able to busy himself with making the tea, pouring the water and setting the cups. He could hear the small scuff and shift of things being moved. Harry glanced over his shoulder, expecting Malfoy to be looking through his stuff, although all he saw was Malfoy moving a pile of papers from the couch to the coffee table and sitting himself down. 

He might have been wrong, but he was sure he saw a flutter of pain cross Malfoy’s features as the blond sat down. The Saviour snapped his head back around as Malfoy glanced up, busying himself with finishing the tea.

“Sugar?” asked Harry innocently, adding a heaped spoon-full into his own cup. 

“No, thank you.”

Harry nodded to himself. He hadn’t expected anything less. 

With two mugs in hand, Harry started towards the sofas. He held a mug out to his guest, who took it without meeting his eyes before the Saviour settled himself in the opposite chair. 

The silenced seemed to weigh heavily on them as they sat there, unsure in each other’s company. Harry hadn’t seen any semblance of a sneer on Malfoy’s face, nor had the man made any kind of quips. Maybe he really was trying to be polite. Although as Malfoy took a sip of his tea, his face scrunched up and he looked into the mug incredulously. Harry sat back, waiting for it. 

Malfoy glanced up, realising he was being watched, and kudos to him, the man didn’t say a thing. 

“Hogwarts apparently only stocks either camomile or Earl Grey,” offered Harry as a way of explanation. Malfoy pursed his lips and raised his head, setting the mug down on the table softly. 

“Ah, yes. Personal reserves come in handy when you live here,” replied the blonde, leaning back and putting his hands on his legs. 

Harry nodded, leaning into the rim of his cup as he tried not to suffocate in the tense atmosphere that was getting thicker with each passing moment. 

Had he ever had a civilised conversation with Malfoy? Harry didn’t think so. During school they would either avoid each other or come together to throw insults. Even after the war, when Harry had testified on Malfoy and Narcissa’s behalf, they hadn’t spoken. They’d exchanged a couple of resolute looks, a nod here and there. Maybe a handshake? He couldn’t remember, but they’d never been in a room like this before without cursing each other. 

“So,” said Malfoy suddenly, and Harry glanced up, expecting the man to be halfway to excusing himself. Instead Malfoy was watching him steadily, and Harry realised he was more comfortable with the hexing. 

“How are you finding it here?”

Ah, small talk. Not one of Harry’s strong suits. But the Saviour cleared his throat and leaned forward. If they could get through some small talk, then maybe they could get past their archaic rivalry. 

“Uh, it’s good. Well, it’s weird.”

Malfoy smiled knowingly. “Being here as an adult?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Being able to go out after dark and everything. I still flinch when I walk past Filch after curfew.”

Malfoy laughed quietly, leaning forward to pick up his mug again. 

“Yes, it takes quite a while to get used to it, I’ll admit. I think the strangest part of working here is the way that the professors treat you. They seem to be able to transition from teacher to colleague without blinking an eye, but I still find myself calling them ‘sir’.”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh, but he caught himself after a moment, still feeling slightly overwhelmed. 

Neither of them added to the conversation, and Harry could feel the awkwardness starting to settle over them again. Both were hesitant, as though they wanted to say something, but neither of them were willing to go first. Harry waited it out for another minute or two. 

“Malfoy-”

“Potter-”

They both froze, Harry letting out his breath in an awkward chuckle and Malfoy rolling his eyes almost teasingly. 

Harry lifted his hand and gestured for Malfoy to continue with what he was going to say, although the moment he suggested Malfoy speak, he saw the blonde almost curl in to himself shyly. 

“Potter,” said Malfoy after a moment, clearing his throat and straightening himself up on the couch. Harry watched him curiously, wondering what was making the other so uncomfortable. 

“Potter. I know that we’ve… that we’ll never…” Malfoy let out a harsh breath, clearly angry with himself. Harry knew he could have intervened at this point because he’d gotten the gist of what Malfoy was trying to say but… well. He kind of enjoyed seeing Malfoy flustered. It was such a rare thing, something he’d seen maybe once in his life, and it made the other seem human. A new point of view and it was kind of - refreshing?

“I understand that we have… animosity between us. Our history is…  _ colourful _ at best. But it's my hope that now we’re adults, and that we work together, we can...create some kind of… peace between us. A cease fire, if you will.”

Harry watched as Malfoy struggled with the words, until the blonde had managed to force out whatever point he was making. Harry sipped his tea as Malfoy looked up at him expectantly, clearly awaiting some kind of response. Harry took his time, because despite the fact that he did agree, he was struggling with his own words. 

Although maybe he waited too long, because Malfoy let out some kind of frustrated grunt and his eyes flashed with an emotion that Harry didn’t recognise. Harry sighed and sat back, staring into the rim of his mug. 

"I can’t pretend that I'm okay with you, with what you did. With who you are - or who you used to be," he added quickly, because Malfoy's brows furrowed and Harry saw him bristle. "But yeah I think for the sake of our jobs, for the sake of peace in our lives… we can be respectful. Not friends but… colleagues, I guess." 

Malfoy's face was carefully blank, and it frustrated Harry to no end. He'd never met anyone as controlled as the Malfoys, and he didn’t think he ever would. 

But Malfoy eventually nodded his head and set his full mug on the table. Harry raised his head as Malfoy got to his feet. The man ran his slender hands over his black robes as though he were wondering what to do with them, but he eventually just nodded again. 

"That seems like the best course of action. I'll leave you to it." 

Harry didn’t get up but he nodded in agreement. He listened to Malfoy's careful footsteps as the man walked towards the door. He was braced for the small click as it opened and was awaiting the same closing response, but it didn’t come. Harry turned his head, noticing that Malfoy was still standing in the doorway, his back to the other, and Harry was just about to ask what else he needed when the blonde looked over his shoulder. 

“Potter… if you need assistance, with the teaching aspect… I am available. I can’t promise it won’t end in curses and hexes, but I’d be willing to try.”

Harry blinked as he saw the other’s mouth curl a little at the end, the ghost of a smile. It was bizarre. But he found himself mimicking the half-smile and nodding his head. 

“Thanks. I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Malfoy inclined his head. “Goodnight, Potter.”

“Night, Malfoy.”

The door closed with a soft click, and Harry dropped back against the sofa. He tilted his head back against the plush cushion and let out a long breath through his lips. Well that was… weird. He shook his head, chuckling at the whole situation before his eyes landed on the pile of books. 

He heaved a sigh and got to his feet. Might as well study them, he decided, considering there was no chance he could go back to sleep now. 

* * *

“I can’t believe he’s teaching there… although, weirdly, I’m not surprised.”

Draco nodded his head, drinking deeply from the tall glass before he sighed and set it down. The beer was too bubbly, and bitter, but it was cold which he supposed was the only good thing. 

The din of the muggle pub seemed to ebb and flow with the sport playing on the screen at the back. Just his luck they picked the football night. 

“Me neither,” he said, turning to his companion. 

Blaise chuckled as he leaned back in the chair. Draco glanced around the pub again, holding back a sneer. This would definitely not be his first choice, but no pubs in Wizarding London would let him through their doors, so if he wanted a drink with a friend, they had to come…  _ here. _

“Keep glaring at the chair, I’m sure it’s very sorry,” teased his friend, and Draco scoffed. He reached for his beer again, only drinking it because ordering a red wine would look a bit out of place in a pub filled to the brim with monstrous sized muggles screaming at the top of their lungs. 

Blaise gave him his best shit-eating grin before he leaned forward, and Draco’s attention was brought to the familiar caramel features, with those stunningly blue eyes twinkling in the fading light. 

“But besides the Golden Prat, how’s things? How are you?” asked Zabini. 

Draco shrugged, wincing before he wiped his mouth with his hand. 

“Same as ever.”

“Have you… heard back from that specialist, in Norway?”

Draco felt his jaw tighten and he set his eyes on the coaster sitting innocently under Blaise’s beer. They’d known each other for so long that Zabini would be able to read him like an open book, and the proud Malfoy hated it. He hated feeling so open and exposed, even if Blaise only had good intentions. 

“I did,” said Draco after a moment, sniffing impatiently before he looked back up. “They won’t operate. And I quote; ‘Unfortunately our services are unavailable to those associated with criminals. But we wish you luck in your endeavour.” Draco sneered before he sighed heavily, reaching up to rake his fingers through his fringe. 

“I told you, no one will touch me.”

Blaise clucked his tongue, huffing his indignation. 

“But it’s bullshit. You were cleared of the charges. They’ve got no reason to deny you the surgery.”

He nodded, before he shrugged, feeling deflated. 

“Doesn’t matter. The only medical services I’ll get is either the batty wing or the morgue. I’m sure there’s plenty of people willing to cut me up.” Draco smirked dryly, but Blaise didn’t take the bait. Instead those blue eyes drilled into him, filled to the brim with concern and self-riteous anger on Draco’s behalf. 

“Stop it,” snapped the blonde, narrowing his silver eyes. “You know I hate it when you do… that.” Draco waggled his fingers near Blaise’s face and his friend let out a long-suffering sigh. 

The two of them fell into an awkward silence as they finished their beers. Blaise was the only one he regularly met up with, and that was getting less and less. But he supposed, it was bound to happen. Draco’s eyes dropped to the hand sitting on the table, and the bright gold ring wrapped around Blaise’s finger. Blaise’s hand twitched under the scrutiny before he lifted his hand and put it under the table. 

“I know what will cheer you up,” said Blaise and Draco raised his head, noting the completely sinful smirk on the other’s face. It was only a second after that he felt something press against his foot. Draco frowned, cocking his head. Blaise’s smirk widened and the foot moved further up the blonde’s leg. 

“Blaise…”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun! I’ll be gentle… I’ll rub your back like I used to.”

Draco opened his mouth but was stopped by the foot suddenly pressing against his inner thigh. Heat crept up his neck and for the one stunned moment, he let Blaise tease him. His mind wandered through his memories, to nights filled with laughter and moans and the hot rush of breath over his neck. 

But reality hit him hard, and he used his knee to shove Blaise’s foot away. 

“I think someone’s waiting for you,” sneered the blonde, nodding at Blaise’s hand. His friend scoffed, shaking his head as he finished his beer.

“Fine, if you wanna sit here in self-pity, then enjoy.”

Blaise set his empty glass on the table before he grabbed his coat. Draco ground his teeth as he watched the other storm away, before he snapped his head forward. What a fucking prick. It wasn’t Draco’s fault that the twit had gotten married. And to a nice woman, too. She didn’t deserve to be fooled by Blaise’s promiscuity. Draco wouldn’t cross that line, which surprised even himself. Who knew he had…  _ morals _ ?

The blonde tried to finish his drink, but the bubbles caught in his throat and he spluttered messily. Wiping at his chin, Draco glanced down at his pale grey shirt and the splatters now adorning it. Letting his eyes flutter closed, he took a deep breath through his nose before he released it slowly. 

He grabbed his own coat and pulled it on slowly, well aware that he was still recovering from the spasms. As he pulled his collar up, ready for the dwindling summer breeze, he turned his head to catch a pair of eyes watching him. 

Draco noticed the man sitting by the bar, alone, watching him with an amused smile playing on his lips. The blonde swept his eyes over the muggle, taking in his large build and neatly trimmed beard. His hands were resting on the counter, and they seemed big and strong. Hands that knew what to do. And arms that would throw him all over the place. 

A pang of longing seared through him, accompanied by a sharp twinge in his lower disc. Draco gave the man a tight-lipped smile, before he turned and made his way out of the pub. As much as he wanted it… he just couldn't. Not any more. Not with this  _ fucking _ spine. 


	5. Lessons

"So the uh, the first thing any good wizard should know is the ah, the basics of defence-"

"Sir, sir! Sir I need a wee!"

Ron waved his hand furiously above his head and Harry frowned just as Hermoine scoffed and flapped her arm at her husband, catching him in the chest. Ron gave out a grunt before his wide grin set on Harry again, and The Saviour let out a long breath through his lips. 

"Cheers, Ron. Super helpful," he huffed, before turning and pacing on his heel. 

Hermione clucked her tongue before she suddenly gasped, her hand resting heavily on her swollen belly. 

“Actually Harry,” she said, looking up at him sheepishly. “I do need the loo. Help me up.” She held out a hand and Harry leaned forward to pull the pregnant witch to her feet. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her before she nodded, turning and starting the long waddle through the lounge. 

Harry sighed as he  _ floomped  _ into Hermione’s seat next to Ron. His friend chuckled before slapping him playfully on the back. 

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, mate. You were brilliant when you were teaching us in the Room of Requirement,” said Ron, leaning forward to pick up his mug from the coffee table. 

Harry bit the inside of his lip, reaching up to rub his tired eyes. 

Ron and Hermione’s cosy living room had been his safe haven over the years, but the little two bedroom cottage didn’t help his agitation today. He thought it would, but the closer it got to term time, the more nervous he was getting. 

“Well there’s a difference teaching classmates that know me, and a bunch of kids who’re probably terrified of everything. Even me,” he added, remembering all the times some kid had spotted him in Diagon alley. They would either stare at him, wide-eyed, or hide behind their mother’s legs. 

Ron snickered, clearly imagining a class of First years staring up at Harry. The Saviour huffed again, picking up his mug only to frown when he saw it was empty. He turned to the clock on the wall, eyes widening slightly. He’d been hiding away in the comfort of his friends’ house for three hours.

“Oh that’s better,” hummed Hermione as she appeared through the door, one hand on her stomach and rubbing fondly. He felt a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth as he watched her. She was clearly getting uncomfortable, but she had never looked so lovely and at peace. 

“You staying for dinner, Harry?” she asked, leaning down to gather the empty mugs from the table. 

“I’ll do it, babe,” said Ron, fluttering to his feet and taking the mugs from her hands and ushering her back onto the sofa. Her lips pursed but she didn’t argue, instead watching her husband steadily as he took the mugs into the open kitchen to their left. 

Hermione turned to him, her eyes twinkling. 

“Ron’s cooking,” she whispered conspiratorially, her eyes flicking up the kitchen and back again. Harry fought a grin, before he gave her a sympathetic smile. 

“Oh dear.”

Her face twisted into a fond smirk as she looked up again, watching as Ron hummed a tune to himself and rinsed out the mugs. 

“He’s trying though,” she added, an edge of pure affection to her voice. Harry nodded, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder gently. 

“I know he is. Who knew Ron Weasley could be so domestic.” 

“Oi!” came the voice from the kitchen, and Ron turned to wave a sponge at them. “Heard that!”

Harry and Hermione let out a rush of giggles. He let himself sit in the familiarity of their easy banter for a few more minutes, before he slapped his thighs and got to his feet.

“Right, I better get on. Thanks for the invite guys, but I quite like being alive.” 

Ron flashed him a glare as he wondered back into the lounge, hands wrapped around a tea towel. 

“Oh, ha, ha,” said the ginger sarcastically, but he still opened an arm. Harry leaned down for a quick hug, tapping his best friend on the back before he turned and leaned down, giving Hermione a softer hug. It was getting harder to do, but she seemed determined, squeezing him as tight as she could. 

“Don’t worry so much, Harry,” she said, leaning back and tapping his cheek. “You’ll do brilliantly.”

“Yeah,” added Ron. “But you could always ask Malfoy for help.”

Harry frowned, reaching out and grabbing the tea towel before he launched it into Ron’s face. The red-head let out a chortling laugh before they all said their goodbyes. 

The warmth he felt at his best friends’ house was quickly sucked away by the cold, stone walls of his rooms. Harry stepped out of the fire and shivered, noticing that the room was getting dark. 

He pulled his wand from the holder around his wrist, flicking it absently as he made his way into the lounge. Sconces and lamps burst into life around him, before the hearth came to life in a blazing rush. 

Out of habit, Harry filled the kettle and set it on the stove. His stomach rumbled as it boiled, and he found himself looking around the empty room. 

It seemed so quiet now, so devoid of all life. He’d spent far too much time on his own in these rooms, and it was starting to drive him a bit mad. 

Clucking his tongue, Harry took the kettle off the heat and grabbed his dark green jacket, throwing it on as he left his rooms. 

It was weird even still, walking through the corridors on his own with the dwindling daylight. He’d always been in such a rush to get to places; to class, to the Great Hall, to the Common Room. He’d never stopped to admire the beauty of the castle. 

There seemed to be features in every single stone - scratches or dents that told a whole story. And in the silence, he could hear the distant echo and rustles, like the castle was sighing. 

He’d always known that there was more to the castle than meets the eye, but now it felt… palpable. Like it was… watching him, aware of him. Harry shuddered as he took the stairs two at a time, moving around the halls effortlessly until he stepped through the grand oak doors and into the vast Great Hall. 

Seeing it empty was slightly unnerving, and flashes of crumbling stones filtered between his eyes. He blinked them away. The war was over. 

At the head of the room was the long Teacher’s table, and the closer he got, he noticed that not all of them were there. He saw Madame Pomfrey talking to Madame Hooch at the right end, and Professor Flitwick sat in his usual seat, muttering to himself as he scrawled over parchment. 

It was odd, to say the least, but he supposed most of the teachers were either busy preparing for classes or spending the last week with their families. Harry reached the table, moving around the other side. He glanced over the Great Hall, realising that this would be his viewpoint from now on. 

His eyes landed on the empty chair at the far end of the table, where he would officially be sat. But then his attention was drawn to the splash of platinum hair and straight figure on the chair next to his. Harry bit the inside of his lip, hesitating. He could sit somewhere else, but that would be achingly obvious that he was pointedly avoiding Malfoy. 

It would look childish, and it would be immature. They'd agreed on peace, professionalism. The most he could do was sit there and eat his dinner like an adult. 

Harry huffed out a small breath before he steeled his expression, marching forward with a new determination. 

He saw Malfoy raise his head as he approached, but Harry kept his eyes down at the small spread of food on the table. It seemed to materialise out of nowhere, set and ready for him. Winky probably followed him. Harry sucked his teeth before he sat down with a small sigh, reaching out and picking up the small goblet of… pumpkin juice?

He snickered into his cup. Grown arse adult man drinking pumpkin juice out of a wine goblet. Summed him up pretty well. 

"Evening, Potter." 

Harry turned his head, but Malfoy was focused on an open book next to a bowl of greenish soup. 

"Evening," he said cheerily, pulling his plate of steaming sausage and potatoes forward. He helped himself to gravy, before tearing at a bread roll and tucking into his food. 

He felt himself glancing side ways now and again, expecting some muttered insult about his eating habits to be thrown his way. But Malfoy seemed intent on his book, eating slowly as he read. 

Harry focused on the meal, sitting back with a sigh not five minutes later. He sipped at his pumpkin juice as he heard the delicate thump of a closing book.

"Hungry?" Asked a curiously posh drawl, and Harry fought the urge to stiffen defensively. 

"Old habit," he said casually, glancing to his side to see Malfoy watching him, those silver eyes glimmering with curiosity. He looked… expectant? Harry cleared his throat and shrugged. 

"I eat quickly out of habit," he explained, briefly wondering why he'd felt the need to. Malfoy raised a slender pale eyebrow, but didn't add anything to it. Which was a surprise. 

Harry was still expecting a snide remark, which he realised was the problem. They would never get over this animosity if he didn’t let go of his childish traits.

“So, do you feel prepared for the start of term?”

Harry looked over at Malfoy again, a little surprise on his face. Malfoy was initiating a polite conversation.That had to count for something, surely?

“Um, yeah… well no. Not really.” Harry gave Malfoy a tight-lipped smile, to which the blonde leaned forward a little. The Saviour noticed that Malfoy’s soup bowl was gone, replaced by a small dish that held some kind of meringue...thing. Harry turned to his own plate, which was gone as well, and a bowl was sitting pretty in the middle, caressing the most delicious looking sticky toffee pudding he’d ever seen. Harry smiled brightly, reaching for the small gravy boat now filled with custard. 

“What’s the problem?” asked Malfoy, leaning forward to scoop some of his own dessert into his mouth. Harry shrugged as he poured the custard. 

“I dunno… I mean, I’ve got all the lessons planned out - for the first term anyway - but… think I’m just nervous, really. It’s one thing to practise, and one to actually do it, you know?”

Of course Malfoy knew. The man was like a walking statue, all perfect and composed. He’d probably never felt nervous in his life. 

An image flashed through Harry’s mind, of the courthouse in the Ministry. When he was sitting in the stalls, watching the skinny, withdrawn Malfoy as he took the stand. He’d looked so pale, so lost and small. 

Harry was drawn back to the present, to the older, more regal-looking Malfoy as he nodded his head. 

“Of course,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “Kids are awful.” 

Both of them let out a surprised chuckle, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t mean they’re  _ awful _ , not like that. I meant that they’re easily distracted, hardly impressed, and brutally honest. In my first year, I dropped the potion I was working on with them and ended up turning my shoes pink.” Malfoy hissed out a breath, his lips drawn even though his eyes twinkled with humour. 

“They called me Professor Pink for… well, the rest of the year. Some of them still do it now,” he said fondly, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Harry drew his lips together, impressed that Malfoy wasn’t throwing a hissy fit over the nickname. He supposed the man did enjoy his job. He couldn't imagine what Snape would do if someone had dared call him Professor Pink. 

Harry chuckled quietly, taking a bite from his pudding and chewing thoughtfully. 

“I’m just not sure what to expect. I just know that one of them is gonna throw a question at me that I’m not expecting and I’ll freeze up.” Harry sighed heavily, focusing on his pudding while Malfoy did the same. They ate in a thoughtful silence until Malfoy leaned back, clearly finished. He didn’t leave though, instead Harry felt eyes on him. It only made him finish his toffee pudding quicker, and he looked around for a reason to leave. He didn’t know why he had the urge to bolt. 

“Come with me, Potter,” said Malfoy after a moment, gracefully getting to his feet and looking down at the Saviour. 

Harry opened and closed his mouth, staring up at the other through his mass of wild hair. 

“Um…”

Malfoy scoffed, but the usual sneer was absent. 

“I promise I won’t hex you. Come on.”

With that, Malfoy turned on his heel and started through a door to the left. Harry frowned, briefly debating whether or not to follow when he lost sight of the other in the hall. He muttered under his breath, something about his Last Will and Testament, before he got to his feet and followed the other. To his doom or not, he couldn't be sure. 

* * *

"We're… in a classroom." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, Potter." 

It took a staggering amount of willpower to stop the snide comment on his tongue, mostly because Potter kept casting him suspicious looks every few seconds. Draco sighed before he gestured to the back of the room and to the waiting chalkboard. 

"Right. You go stand over there," he explained, before he himself took a seat in one of the facing pews. 

Potter frowned at him, but did as he was told, standing at the front of the class. 

Draco folded his arms, leaning forward and waving his hand. Potter frowned, tilting his head like a confused puppy, and Draco rubbed his forehead. Merlin the man could be dense. 

"Teach me," said the blonde, to which Potter's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Draco gave the man what he hoped was a supportive smile.

"Start your lesson. I will be the students, and I'll throw some questions at you. It might help you deal with some questions that you'll receive." 

Understanding dawned in Potter's eyes, and he seemed to curl into himself, looking at his feet as he leaned from side to side. All the man needed was a lace parasol and he would fit right into the role of fair maiden in any Victorian novel. 

"It's… embarrassing," admitted the Golden Prat after a moment, in a voice that was so genuine that it sucked all the teasing from Draco's expression. 

"Potter, if you think you're embarrassed in front of me then you are not prepared to be a teacher. You will stutter and mumble and trip on your own feet. You just have to take it in your stride." 

Potter's brows furrowed, but he seemed to accept Draco's words as truth. 

Finally, and with an impressive pout, Potter turned to face him although he seemed to be regarding the whole room. That was good. Singling out a student who hadn't drawn attention to themselves first could be damaging to their self esteem. Potter seemed to have studied the books well. 

"Good morning, class," said Potter, his cheeks taking on a pink hue but his voice strong and confident. 

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am Professor Potter, and I will be introducing you to this subject." 

Draco immediately put up his hand, and Potter turned to regard him with a small frown. 

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" He asked, and Draco smirked when he heard a hint of teasing in his tone. 

"Are you Harry Potter?" Asked Draco, feigning childish wonder. " _ The  _ Harry Potter?" 

Potter licked his lower lip, the corners of his mouth quirking a little.

"Yes I am, Mr Malfoy." 

"Did you kill The Dark Lord?" 

Potter clenched his jaw but kept eye contact. 

"Yes I did, Mr Malfoy." 

"All on your own?" 

"No, I had help from my friends." 

Draco inclined his head, indicating that Potter should continue. Just as the Saviour started a monologue about what DATDA entailed, Draco shoved his hand back in the air. Potter licked his lips. 

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" 

“Did you ever use a Forbidden Curse?”

Potter opened his mouth, but Draco noticed the hesitation in his face. The blonde raised an eyebrow. Well that was something he didn’t know about the Golden Boy. Potter was quick to clear his throat, looking at his shoes briefly before meeting Draco’s eyes again. 

“No, I haven’t Mr Malfoy. Anything else?” There was an edge to his tone, and Draco knew that the man wasn’t impressed with the questions. Which was exactly why he had offered this exercise. 

“Did people you know die?”

Potter’s face froze before his eyes narrowed, and he looked at Draco with eyes as hard as steel. Draco kept his face neutral, even though his heart jumped. It was that look again, that broken hatred. 

“Yes,” he hissed, and Draco swallowed thickly. “Can we stop now, Malfoy?” 

Draco bristled at the emotion he heard in Potter’s voice, and part of him wanted to concede. But they hadn’t even gotten to the worse ones. He shook his head and Potter huffed, his hands clenching and releasing as he started pacing. He looked like a lion prowling along the edge of a cage, and Draco had to suppress a shudder. 

“Does that class have any more questions before we continue?” asked Potter, his voice clipped. 

Draco raised his hand and Potter tilted his head, unimpressed. 

“Do you regret anything, sir?”

The air around Potter seemed to shimmer and Draco had to resist the urge to grab his wand. 

“Yes,” bit out the Saviour and Draco chewed the inside of his lip. 

“Do you wish you could change it?”

That seemed to be the limit. Potter’s face flushed and he stalked towards the blonde, his green eyes positively blazing. 

“You’re just doing this to piss me off,” he seethed and Draco, felt his perfect mask falter under all the power of Potter. 

“I’m not,” he said smoothly, although quieter than he had intended. 

“Yes you are!” he raged, although his voice never raised an octave. “No kid would ask something like that. You’re just being a prick.”

Draco winced at the insult, but he didn’t have a chance to explain. Potter had already turned on his heel and was making his way to the door. Draco managed to get to his feet and face the other. 

“They ask me,” he called, which stopped Potter in his tracks. Draco could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and relief flooded him when the other turned. 

“They ask me,” he repeated, licking his lower lip and avoiding Potter’s burning eyes. “Without fail. First Years, always. That  _ exact _ question.”

Potter’s face faltered a little, although he was still wound tighter than a spring. 

“What do you tell them?” he asked, and Draco raised his chin. 

“The truth.”

“Which is?”

“Yes. I wish it everyday.”

That got him. Potter’s lips parted and he seemed to deflate. the shimmer of magic around him fading into nothingness. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened. 

“Why?”

Draco sighed, leaning his bottom against the desk and picking at the hem of his robe. 

“Because it’s true. These kids, the young ones - they were only babies in the war. They’ve only ever heard stories, and no one tells them the truth. No one wants to burden the innocent with the horror of it. But they need it. And that’s what our job is, Potter. We are here to teach them, to show them the facts no matter how ugly. I mean, you don’t have to go into the gory details-” Potter flinched, but Draco pushed on. “But you need to be honest. If you lie, they’ll never trust what you tell them. They’ll never respect what you say.” Draco sighed heavily, bracing his hands on the desk as his lower back began to protest. 

Potter watched him steadily for what felt like a lifetime. He could see those wheels turning, and he half expected the man to throw and insult and storm off like he used to. But he didn’t. Instead he nodded slowly, taking a long breath as he turned his head. 

“Okay.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay?”

“Yep. Point taken. Thank you for the… help. I appreciate it.”

Draco couldn't stop his lips parting in surprise, but he was quick to snap them shut. 

“You’re… welcome.”

Although the atmosphere was still tense, when Potter turned Draco knew that they were still on polite terms. Uneasy terms, of course. But at least they were still on a professional level. 

When Potter was gone, Draco slowly slipped back into a pew. He put his elbows on the desk and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands hanging over his eyes. Maybe, one day, they might even be friends. 

He scoffed at himself, sneering at his own weakness. Out of all the people that could be a potential friend, Potter was at the very bottom of that list. He had no real friends as it was. Blaise was… complicated, and seemed to only want one thing from him. The teachers were amicable, but they weren’t exactly friends. 

Draco blew at the hair in his eyes, scowling as they fell back down. He would just have to accept that he was on his own. 

Not like he’d ever expected anything else. 


	6. Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, just wanted to say thank you for the kudos and the comments! I really appreciate it! Also, yes I did spent like 3 hours researching Hogwarts, the education system, and making many, many timetables... I feel very educated. I love it.

"Oooh I like that one!" 

Harry sighed heavily, turning from side to side as he studied his reflection in the tall mirror. He grimaced at the dark orange robes and how they clashed with his face. 

"I look like a carrot," he huffed, and Mr Bellarose straightened his spine as he stood next to Hermione. 

She gave Harry a pitying look but there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. 

"What about the green one?" She tried, and Bellarose flicked the dark wand in his hand. Harry jumped as he felt the rush of magic about his body, before he looked into the mirror again. 

The robes did look nice, with flowing arms and an intricate brooch. They just didn't look right on _him_. 

"I just… I don't suit robes," he said awkwardly, feeling like an over inflated balloon under all the heavy material. He'd had no choice but to wear robes, both as a student and an Auror. But they had been over the top of normal shirts and trousers, and he hardly wore the robes anyway. 

He was reminded of the Yule Ball, in those stuffy formal robes and he had to hold back a shudder. 

Mr Bellarose huffed again, looking down his crooked nose at The Savior. Harry shrugged, not wanting to offend the tailor but also wanting to be honest. 

"Well you need professional clothes," said Hermione and Harry turned to see her fingering the rolls of fabrics on the shelves. 

"You can't show up in jeans and a t-shirt for your first day." 

Harry sighed wistfully, turning to the mirror again. 

"I know, I know."

"Perhaps," came the nasally drawl of the tailor. He still looked hauty as he addressed them, but Harry felt a little niggle of hope. "Sir may be interested in the other styles we have?" 

Harry shared a look with Hermione before he nodded. 

"Anything but robes." 

Bellarose inclined his head before he flicked his wand again. 

As soon as the cool tingle of magic subsided, Harry could feel the difference of the material against his skin. It was tight. Fitted. He turned to the mirror, his eyes widening. 

"Oh now that suits you," said Hermione, and Harry felt a smile tug at his lips. 

Gone were the masses of robes, and in its stead was a fitted dark blue three piece suit. The cut was tight, seeming to fold around his muscles and limbs. Harry turned himself side to side, impressed. The white shirt broke up the colour, and Harry opened the jacket to see the matching vest. The tie was a darker blue and the shoes shiny and black. 

"This is better," he said, feeling more like himself. It was decidedly muggle in design but the silver stitching on the inside that twisted and shimmered revealed the magic in the lining. 

"Very good, sir. Will you be requiring more colours?" 

Harry nodded, doing the jacket back up and looking over at the tailor. 

"Yep. I'll need at least seven."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head as she took a seat patiently. 

* * *

Harry stepped out of the hearth, his arms laden with bags and books, all of which he promptly dropped on the floor. 

He huffed out a tired sigh before he started to pick them up. 

What had started as a little shopping trip for some new clothes had turned into an all out baby bonanza - especially as there was a sale on in _Magick-lings_. Hermione had gone a little over the top, but Harry couldn't bring himself to say anything considering she was practically glowing with joy as she picked up all manners of baby supplies. 

His best friend had always had a motherly way about her. Constantly nagging at Ron and Harry to finish their homework, to straighten their ties, to comb their hairs. But now she was going to be a mother for real, and despite her forward no nonsense approach to life, he knew she would be fantastic at it. 

Harry set his new stationary supplies on the coffee table before he dropped his tired self onto the sofa. 

Tomorrow, Hogwarts was officially open. The students would be coming back, some new ones starting, they would have the Sorting and the feast. But this time Harry would be watching from the other side. It made his stomach knot in both excitement and nervousness. Classes were only two days away. 

Feeling a little agitated, Harry got up and made his way to his office, picking up the timetable where it sat atop his desk. 

| 

**_9-10_**

| 

**_10-11_**

| 

**_11-12_**

|  | 

**_1-2_**

| 

**_2-3_**  
  
---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
  
**_Monday_**

| 

_G/R - YR1_

| 

_S/H -YR1_

| 

_G/S- YR2_

| 

**_Lunch_**

| 

_G/S - YR7_  
  
**_Tuesday_**

| 

_S/R - YR3_

| 

_G/H - YR3_

| 

_H/R -YR2_

| 

**_Lunch_**

| 

_H/R - YR7_  
  
**_Weds_**

| 

_H/R - YR4_

|  |  | 

**_Lunch_**

| 

_G/H - YR6_  
  
**_Thursday_**

| 

_G/S - YR4_

| 

_R/G - YR5_

| 

**_Lunch_**

| 

_S/R - YR6_  
  
**_Friday_**

| 

_H/S - YR5_

|  | 

**_Lunch_**

|   
  
His eyes ran over the words again and again, like they had done the hundred times he’d read it when it arrived at his pigeonhole two days ago. It was nice of McGonagall to give him the afternoons off on Friday, but he was sure it would be spent marking homework and planning more lessons. 

He’d spent hours with Minerva in the past few days. They had gone through his entire term plans, through the goals his students would need to meet, to the expectations and end-term essays. 

Apparently he’d been a bit ambitious with the First Years, but they’d toned it down together. She had seemed impressed with his hard work, and like a student again, Harry had preened at the praise. 

Although she had warned him that plans didn’t always work, and putting his theory to the test would be harder than it seemed. All-in-all, it had been good enough for her to send him his timetable the next morning. 

Harry sank down into his chair, the parchment still in his hand. It hit him that this was really happening. That he was now employed at Hogwarts. That his life was about to change completely. That his hiding away all summer was now amounting to this. 

A sliver of doubt sent cold chills into his stomach, and Harry had to take a few deep breaths. 

He let in all the doubts. All the pain and sadness of leaving the Aurors. The horror of that night. The spiral of control he’d felt the moment he’d stepped into that graveyard. He grieved the life he thought he was going to have. Everything flooded his body, filling his soul to the brim. Tears pricked his eyes, as his anxiety danced with his grief, and he let it sit there. 

He let it simmer for five minutes. Five minutes only. 

Harry released the breath he’d been holding, and with it, all of that negativity. It slipped from him, pouring out like a waterfall until he was empty. His eyes fluttered open and Harry saw the timetable again. This time, he smiled. 

Time to fill himself with better emotions, with better experiences and kinder memories. 

Shaking his head, Harry got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He had an hour to get ready, and this time excitement sent shivers through him. 

* * *

“I hear that Statham’s youngest is starting this year.”

“Oh, he’ll be a Slytherin then.”

“I hear that the boy’s a dear soul. Perhaps a Hufflepuff?”

“I doubt that, Rona. Stathams’ have been Slytherins since Salazar.”

“Well there’s always one that can change that.”

Draco felt a yawn cracking his jaw as he turned away from the blithering conversation to his right. The Arithmancy professor, Vector, was quite the gossip. She was known in his time at school as a viciously strict teacher who adored dumping tonnes of homework on her students - but outside of that, she was practically an Agony Aunt. She’d drawn in the fairly new Muggle Studies teacher, Rona Wrenn, into the gossip surrounding the newest studies. 

Wrenn was a little slip of a thing, teeny, and had eyes far too big for her face. She was also incredibly naive, thus Vector preying on her like a vulture. 

He only just about stifled another yawn as he looked around the small dining room. Set just outside the teacher’s wing, the room was used a few times a year for the teachers to gather and gabber about this and that. It was supposed to be a treat, but Draco had always found it boring. 

Minerva wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other’ and to ‘build rapport’. The only thing that ever got built was their alcohol tolerance. Really, he couldn't believe how hard the teachers’ partied when the students weren’t about. 

Looking down, Draco twirled his crystal wine glass in a small circle, wondering how long he would have to stay to satisfy Minerva’s requirements. 

There were tables set around the room with remnants of dinner on them, and soft music played somewhere at the back. The teachers were scattered, chatting and laughing. It was their last time to relax before the students arrived tomorrow. 

His eyes landed on a familiar figure for the tenth time in an hour, and he inwardly chastised himself. 

Potter stood talking to Longbottom and Hagrid, the three of them laughing and holding delicate glasses and no doubt reminiscing on times gone by. It made the potions master scowl into his drink. 

Of course the Golden Prat would be having a delightful time. Of course he would be effortlessly charming. _Of course_ he would be standing there in some ridiculously tight three piece suit that made him look so much more than the snivelling little whelp Draco used to know him as. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he took a long pull of his drink. 

The dolt had even bought himself new glasses. Sleek, modern specs that didn’t make him look like a wide-eyed buffoon. Now he was all broad shoulders and sculpted features, and it was pissing Draco _off._

He muttered under his breath as he picked at the corner of the tablecloth. 

“You know,” said a voice next to him, making him jump. He just about stopped himself from wincing as his back jarred. 

Draco turned to look at Minerva, careful to smooth out his expression. 

“You’re supposed to be taking this time to get to know your fellow colleagues,” she said, her tone clipped even though her eyes were soft. Draco scoffed before he could stop himself, and he looked at Minerva through the corner of his eye. 

“They…” Draco fought for the words, his eyes flitting back to Potter and his groupies. With a frustrated huff, he gestured with his hands. “They don’t want to talk to me.”

Minerva gave him a gentle smile, following his line of sight. 

“None of you are the children you once were. I’m sure they will surprise you.”

Draco rolled his eyes, mumbling into his glass and pointedly avoiding the sharp look the Headmistress sent him. 

She left not long after, leaving Draco simmering in his own self-pity. He couldn't deny that part of him wanted to join the easy banter, but… he didn’t have it in him to be rejected again and again. 

Biting the inside of his lip, the potions master finished his wine and slowly got to his feet. He saw that Potter looked at him, but Draco was careful to remain blissfully unaware. He smoothed down his black robes before he started surely towards the end of the room, where the exit was. 

“Um… Malfoy?”

Draco jolted when he heard his name, turning as he forced himself to keep his composure. Potter was turned towards him, and he looked just as surprised as Draco that he’d called him out. Draco offered the other a small, expectant look, to which Potter looked around uneasily. 

“Uh… do you… want to come join us?”

Potter’s eyes widened with every word he spoke, and Draco could have laughed if Longbottom and Hagrid weren’t looking at the Golden Prat like he’d just proposed. 

It took Draco longer than he wanted to admit to form a response. 

“Thank you for the offer,” he said as politely as he could, inclining his head slightly. “But you seem busy. Perhaps another time.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered to Longbottom, who was gaping like a fish. When he caught the potions master looking, however, the shock was replaced with a surprisingly forceful disdain. It was a very familiar look, but for some reason it made him falter. Possibly because he was being watched by quite a few people. Or perhaps it was such a sharp contrast to Potter’s diplomacy. 

Draco turned to the Saviour, offering a ghost of a smile, before he turned and left the room. 

Stupid… so stupid. For one tiny moment, he felt a flicker of hope. It was ridiculous and really, quite pathetic. Draco made his way back down to the dungeons, where the thick stone could conceal him from all the hateful eyes that followed him. 

* * *

The next morning did nothing to help his forlorn mood. He wanted to shake it before this evening when the children would arrive. If anything, the students didn’t seem to loathe him. Not that he could be their friend as such, but they didn’t recoil every time they heard his name. 

The sun was filtering through his bedroom window as he slowly climbed from his bed, rolling his neck and feeling the pop and click of his back and shoulders. He gave out a grunt as his spine rebelled, trying to wrap itself up in a spasm. 

Draco winced, taking long breaths until the threat subsided. He exhaled in a rush before he got to his feet, wrapping his silk bathrobe around him and padding over the carpeted floor into his little kitchen. 

He’d been quite surprised to see how much Potter’s rooms differed from his own. Where as the Saviour was decked out in plush sofas and cosy corners, Draco’s rooms were all dark wood and hard edges. 

The kitchen was sleek and metallic, with linoleum flooring. His rooms were also very open-planned, with the only doors between the bedroom and the bathroom. Draco flicked on his kettle and started the familiar routine of preparing his morning tea. 

Setting down the mug and finding a teabag while the kettle sung its bleary whir settled his nerves for some reason. Not that he knew why he was in a foul mood, mind. Probably something to do with last night. 

Draco heard the click and he filled his mug with the steaming water, watching the tea as it curled and danced under the stream. The dark tea swirled outwards, curling around the edge of his glass mug and Draco watched it with fascination. His mind was reeling, attempting to rearrange his scrambled thoughts. It wasn’t until he was adding the splash of milk into his drink that he realised there was a faint sound reverting around his room. He frowned, setting down his jug of milk before following the noise into his lounge. 

It sounded again, and his eyes instantly sought out his front door. 

The knocks were soft, but insistent, as though the knocker wasn’t sure whether they should be doing it or not. Draco frowned, before padding barefoot over the cold laminate flooring. 

He reached out and pulled the door open, freezing the figure standing just behind the threshold. 

Potter was half-turned, regarding Draco with wide-eyes, and the potions master felt his lips part in surprise. 

“Potter?” he asked, his voice still a little roughened by sleep. 

Potter turned to face him sheepishly, his hands sinking into his pockets. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, and Draco slowly regarded the man before him. He was wearing casual clothes, some dark jeans and a muggle t-shirt, but his eyes seemed red. There was the shadow of bags under his eyes, and for a moment Draco felt his heart flutter. 

“No, I was just…” Draco gestured towards his kitchen but his eyes never left the others’. “Has something happened?”

Potter frowned, before he shook his head. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

Draco pursed his lips, not quite awake enough yet to understand what was happening. He imagined that he was wearing the same look from the night Potter caught him outside his rooms at three AM. 

“Uh… tea?” asked the potions master, because really, it was the British safety net. 

Potter gave him a tired smile, clearly pleased and Draco stepped aside to let the other in. 

Draco became acutely aware that he was still in his pyjamas, but there wasn’t much he could do at this point. For Potter to come here, something… must have happened. Or Minerva sent him? He wouldn’t have just come of his own accord, surely? What could he possibly want from Draco?

His mind continued the stream of babbling as he walked back to the kitchen and got another cup ready for Potter. 

“Sugar?” he called, frowning into the cup as he attempted to figure out what the hell Potter was doing here.

“One please,” called the Saviour in return, and Draco made quick work of the drink. He padded back into his lounge to see Potter perching on the edge of his black leather sofa. Draco handed the mug to the other, who seemed far too grateful over a drink, before the potions master sank down into the opposite armchair. 

“How can I help you?” he asked after a moment, cradling his mug in his hands so that he didn’t fidget. 

Potter sipped tentatively at his drink, his leg bouncing up and down. Draco frowned, but he remained silent until the other spoke. 

“It sounds ridiculous,” said Potter, his voice edged with laughter. “But I’m stupidly nervous. I just-” The Saviour looked away, his cheeks faded pink and Draco wondered what had got the other so flustered. 

“It’s not ridiculous,” tried the potions master, but Potter just huffed out a sarcastic breath. 

“It is. I mean - they’re only kids, right? But kids can be fucking _mean_ ,” he said, a smile quirking his lips. Draco inclined his head. 

“Yes they can.”

“And they’re going to ask _so_ many questions. I mean, do I even have the answers? Do I even know what I’m teaching them? Am I just a glorified celebrity who doesn’t actually know his arse from his elbow?”

Draco opened his mouth, but was quick to swallow down the sarcastic retort. It was like some instinctual thing to insult the other. Luckily, Potter didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t care to. Draco cleared his throat, setting his mug on the sleek glass coffee table. 

“Well Minerva wouldn’t allow you to teach if she didn’t have full confidence in you.”

Potter blew a breath between his lips. 

“I know. But I just… I don’t bloody know,” he mumbled, focusing on his drink. “They’re arriving tonight and I guess it just kind of hit me. Sorry, I just realised I came barging in here at stupid o’clock.”

Potter gave him an apologetic smile, and Draco didn’t quite know what to do with it so he just shrugged. 

“It’s fine, I was awake.”

“Yeah… it sounds stupid, but I thought that you might understand, you know? After everything that happened in the war, and the fact that we were in it and these kids…”

Draco felt his eyebrows raise, mostly because it seemed as though Potter was comparing their experience in the war. They were at very different ends of the spectrum, and that familiar guild kicked him in the gut. Potter must have noticed his expression, because his words faltered. 

Draco reached for his tea to distract himself, taking much too big a sip and fighting the urge to spit the boiling brew out. 

The burn trailed down his throat and to his stomach, causing the potions master to grimace.

“They don’t understand?” offered Draco after a moment when he realised Potter looked like a skittish animal. 

He nodded. “Yeah. They never had to grow up with that threat. All they’ve heard are stories, and just the way they’ll look at us…”

Draco swallowed thickly. 

“Well, the way they’ll look at _you_ ,” said Draco before he could stop himself. Potter turned, his eyes narrowed as he searched the blonde’s face for signs of an insult. Draco didn’t meet his eyes, but he kept his expression open. 

There was a long silence between them, and Draco felt his limbs burning to fidget. It was an odd sensation. 

“It’s weird, though, isn’t it?” said Potter, his eyes staring at nothing. There was a darkness to his expression, one that Draco had never seen before. 

“What is?” he pressed gently, enamoured by this new, darker side of the Saviour.

“That they’ll never know what it was like. They’ll never know how terrifying it was, or how much damage Voldemort caused.”

Draco flinched despite himself, and he felt his forearm itch as though the Dark Mark was still alive and writhing under his skin. Surely there were better people for Potter to talk to this about? The ‘good’ ones, the heroes. The ones that would be etched into history. 

Draco was… well. He was the Slytherin that let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He was the coward that nearly killed Dumbledore. He was the Death Eater that harboured The Dark Lord. 

The blonde shivered, gaining Potter’s attention. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, so softly that Draco’s eyes snapped up and narrowed. He did _not_ need pity. He fucking _loathed_ it. 

But Potter was just… watching him. With gentle green eyes under clear lenses. There was no malice to that face, not at him anyway. And it completely took Draco’s breath away. 

“I think…” said Draco after a moment, licking his lower lip and using all of his willpower to keep his emotions off his face. “I think it’s a blessing they’ll never know. They’re… the new hope. The ones that aren’t scarred.”

He smiled feebly, sipping at his tea and looking everywhere but Potter’s face. 

The two of them sat in silence as they lost themselves to their memories. It was the first time they’d ever been in each other’s company without speaking, and to not be drowning in awkwardness or charged suspicion. 

It was almost… companionable. 

“I should… probably get going,” said Potter eventually, setting his empty mug on the table and getting to his feet. Draco was startled out of his thoughts and almost jumped to his feet. 

The pain that seared down his spine made him cry out and the blonde fell forward. It rebounded again and again, sending jolts of electric from his toes to his fingers. He must have lurched forward because he was suddenly leaning against something hard and warm. 

“Merlin, Malfoy, are you alright?”

Draco let out a shuddering breath, half bent and arms out, clasping against Potter’s forearms. He let his eyes close as he fought against the nausea that accompanied his pain. 

It subsided after a few seconds, and he was left looking up into Potter’s annoyingly concerned eyes. The blonde swallowed a few times, but he couldn't seem to wet his mouth. 

Trembling slightly, he used his hold on Potter to slowly straighten himself out. There were a few sharp aftershocks, but nothing that he couldn't handle. Potter was still watching him with wide eyes, and Draco had to clear his throat to cover his embarrassment. 

“Yes, sorry. I’m fine,” he said quickly, although the aftershocks weren’t subsiding. He needed a pain potion. 

“Are - are you sure?” asked Potter, his brows knitting together as he looked over Draco for signs of visible injury. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I just… got up too fast,” he said, his excuse weak at best. “Just a little twinge.”

Draco turned away quickly, starting towards his kitchen area. He put his mug in the sink, feeling the heat of his blush rushing up his neck. He avoided Potter’s eyes, because he just couldn't bear to see the worry there. It didn’t… mesh in his mind. He couldn't handle it. 

“I have a lot of things to prepare this morning,” said Draco quickly, putting his hands behind his back. “If you wouldn’t mind…?”

Potter started as though he realised he was intruding, before he looked around a moment. He seemed a little flustered as he picked up his mug and then set it back down. If he wasn’t in pain, Draco could have laughed at the twit’s awkward flurry. 

“Yeah, yeah of course. Course you do. Alright, I’ll just go then - uh, see you at breakfast?”

Draco managed a polite smile and he inclined his head. 

“Goodbye, Potter.”

“Yeah. Yeah, bye Malfoy.”

Draco watched as the whirlwind that was Harry Potter blew through his door, shutting it a little harder than he probably intended. 

As soon as he was alone, the blonde let out a long moan, releasing the ramrod hold he had on his spine and half limping towards his bedroom. He fumbled in his bedside table until he found the small vial containing the thick green goo, and he swallowed it in one. 

As he crawled onto his bed, savouring the blissful numbness that the potion brought, his mind was reeling. 

What had just happened? Had Potter been… concerned? About _him?_

“No, impossible,” he muttered. Although he couldn't quite get the image of those deep green eyes and the way they regarded him… like he was a person. Like he was… a friend. 

Impossible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a bit of a filler, but I just wanted to go into the little things that start to change their minds about each other. Let me know what you think because I want this to be as realistic as possible. Much love!


	7. Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait on the next chapter - I've been lost down the rabbit hole of fanfiction - but I'm back now! Please let me know what you think about the story. It's just a bit of fun for me, but I also want to touch on who Harry and Draco were then, to now, and how that clashes.  
> Lots of love!

Harry kept a polite smile on his face as the last few stragglers entered the room, and he watched intently as they scrambled about to find a seat. A lot of them were sitting alone, but he supposed it was only the first day. 

His stomach was doing back flips as the sea of unfamiliar faces looked up at him, their faces young and bright with excitement. 

So many innocent eyes, looking to him for answers. It was both overwhelming and warming at the same time. 

"Everyone settled?" He asked, moving around his desk at the front of the class and perching on the edge. The room hushed although there were a few giggles to the back and Harry smiled. 

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm Professor-" 

"Harry Potter!" Called out a young Gryffindor and the class burst into laughter. Harry joined in, although he knew what was going to come. 

"Yes, although you'll be calling me Professor or Sir." 

There were a few more laughs until Harry cleared his throat. Inwardly he was laughing at himself, because it felt so ridiculous being the adult in the classroom. 

"So, because I'm not very good with names I've put a little piece of paper in front of you all. If you write down your surname and stick it to the front of your robes, it'll help me out a lot." 

The class looked down and seemed to jump into action. Some of them already had their ink and quills out, but Harry could spot a few that seemed uncertain about everything. When they pressed the paper to their chest and it magically sealed into the fabric, a few of them gasped. Harry smirked, reminding himself to thank Minerva for that particular trick. 

He could read a few of the names, and there didn’t seem to be anything particularly hard to remember. When the class had finished, they looked back at him expectantly. Harry cleared his throat and got to his feet, walking around towards the chalkboard. 

“So, before we can get into how to defend ourselves from the Dark Arts, we first have to know what the Dark Arts actually  _ are _ \- where they came from, what they’re used for. If we want to learn how to protect ourselves from it, we have to know what it is.”

Harry turned to the board, scrawling  _ Dark Arts _ in bold lettering. Just as he turned, there was a loud snicker from somewhere in the class. 

Harry’s eyes landed on a petite lad towards the back. He was skinny, but gangly, with dark eyes and equally dark hair. But what made Harry start was the expression on the boy’s face. 

A sneer. An incredible familiar sneer. The boy and girl either side of him were snickering, and they weren’t even trying to hide it. Harry cleared his throat, looking over the lad in the middle. 

“Mr… Astley - is there a problem?”

The boy’s sneer turned into hauty amusement, and Harry tried not to bristle as he was regarded like common scum. 

“Surely everyone here knows what the Dark Arts are?” drawled the boy, his voice squeaky and yet he had a nasally undertone. Everything about the Slytherin boy exuded arrogance, and it was like the Saviour was transported back to his youth, meeting Malfoy for the first time.

“On the contrary, Mr Astley,” said Harry, careful to keep his voice steady. “Not everyone here knows much about the Wizarding World, and I’m not even sure those who do know the true history of the Dark Arts.”

Astley sniggered and Harry narrowed his eyes. It was like looking at a darker Malfoy, and it shook him to the core. 

“Mudbloods, you mean?” he said cockily. A few students gasped and Harry felt his cheeks flush in anger. He stepped towards the boy, noticing the way his eyes widened slightly. 

“Mr Astley,” said Harry sternly, reminding himself that these were eleven year olds. Best not terrify them on their first day. 

“Get out of my class,” said Harry bluntly, making sure he kept himself as calm as he could. “And if I ever hear you use that word again, you will  _ not _ be welcomed back.”

“But -” said the boy, his eyes darting about in panic when he realised Harry was serious. 

“Now, Mr Astley.”

The boy’s cheeks were red as he grabbed his bag, shoving his books back inside. The two kids on either side of him were looking at the desks, and Harry could feel the tension about the students. 

“What about… homework?” asked the boy, not meeting Harry’s eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Harry shrugged, turning back and walking to the front of the class. 

“Let’s hope your classmates share their notes. Goodbye, Mr Astley.”

The boy’s jaw was tense, but he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. As the door slammed shut, Harry turned back to the class. His heart ached as he saw the fear on their features.

“I’m sorry you all had to see that,” he said, running his hand through his hair before he tried a small smile. “But language like that will not be tolerated in my classroom. Everyone is equal here, no one is better or worse. We’ll be working together, as a whole. Now… who can tell me the first Wizard to use the Dark Arts?”

The room was silent, the kids sharing looks. Harry tried not to fidget, hoping that he hadn’t just made himself into a monster. 

Then, from the back, a young girl with hair as wild as Hermione’s slowly raised her hand. Harry smiled, nodding at her to continue. 

“Uh… Merlin?” she peeped. Harry’s smile widened. 

“Very good, Miss…?”

“Julia - Bennett. Julia Bennett.”

“Fantastic answer, Miss Bennett. Although it wasn’t considered Dark Arts when used by Merlin. It was actually thought to have been runic magic.”

Harry turned back to the chalkboard, glad to see a few of the kids’ had relaxed somewhat. 

Now he just had to make sure he covered his own arse. 

* * *

“You sent him out… on the first day?” asked Minerva slowly, and Harry nodded. He stood in front of her desk, hands by his sides. 

“Within the first ten minutes?” she asked, her voice spiking in surprise. There was a letter in her palm, and Harry tried not to shuffle from foot to foot. 

Astley had gone straight to the owlery and penned a letter to his father. Said father had immediately contacted the Headmistress, and it was barely midday. He could only imagine what the note said, but Minerva was watching him steadily. 

Harry huffed, plonking himself down on the seat opposite the Headmistress. 

“Yes I did,” he said, absolutely no doubt in his voice. “He referred to the muggle-born kids as mudbloods, and I won’t have it.”

Minerva’s eyes widened a little, before she glanced down at the letter. With a small hum, she dropped the parchment and focused on the Saviour. 

“Harry,” she said softly, which only made him bristle. 

“It’s got nothing to do with my past, Headmistress,” he interjected immediately, keeping his eyes firm in his belief. “It’s a derogatory term and I won’t let it in my classroom. And if I ever hear it outside of the classroom, then I’ll do the same.”

Minerva sighed, before she leaned back in her chair. 

“I understand, Mr Potter,” she said, although he could see she already looked fed up. “I’ll just have to explain the situation to Mr Astley Senior.”

Harry clucked his tongue. 

“Yeah I don’t envy you there.”

Minerva’s eyes locked onto him with an unimpressed glare and Harry fought back a laugh. 

“Don’t push it, Harry,” she said, although Harry saw the twitch of a smile on her lips. She gestured for him to leave and Harry got to his feet. 

“Although try to keep your pupils inside the classroom, for at least the first day, hm?”

Harry let out a small laugh before he turned and left the office.

The rest of the week was an absolute flurry of students, lessons and endless lectures. He’d done little to no magic with the students, but Harry knew that it wasn’t all about spells and practical lessons. 

Still, it exhausted him. He spent Saturday doing absolutely nothing, mostly lying in bed and eating unhealthy food he’d bibed Winky to bring him. On Sunday he went to Ron and Hermione’s for a roast, which was spent with Harry ranting about and praising his students. 

“Sounds like a handful,” said Ron around a mouthful of potatoes. Harry snorted, scooping some green beans into his mouth. 

“And then some,” agreed the Saviour. 

“But are you enjoying it?” asked Hermione as she sat back, her plate already empty. Harry balked a little at the speed his friend had demolished her food, but as her hand rested on her massive stomach, he reminded himself that she was eating for two. 

“I did get in trouble though for sending one of my students out on the first day,” said Harry, cutting into his pork. Ron snickered and Hermione frowned, but the two of them were watching him expectantly. 

Harry swallowed his mouthful before he explained what had happened. He stuttered around the term ‘mudblood’, watching as Hermione recoiled from it. He saw her brush her forearm idly, even though the skin was long since healed and cleared of the foul term. 

“Good,” she said heavily as Harry concluded he’d kicked the boy out. 

Ron raised an eyebrow, but he nodded in agreement. 

“Little prat,” said the redhead, still shovelling food into his gob. Harry hummed. 

Although he didn’t regret sending Astley out, he probably should have given the kid a chance to apologise. He had heard more of the boy’s antics from the other teacher’s though, which showed he was going to be a handful. 

But apparently, Astley was good as gold in Potions. It made Harry wonder exactly what Malfoy was letting him get away with. Maybe the blonde liked him, considering he was basically a younger version of him.

It made Harry sneer, which Hermione cocked her head at. Harry just shrugged and carried on with his food.

The thoughts didn’t quite leave, however, and Harry was still thinking about Astley and Malfoy by the time Monday morning rolled around. 

The Gryffindors were a little sluggish but merry as they piled into his classroom, but the Slytherins seemed bright and ready. Harry greeted the class with a warm smile - which he even extended to Astley as the boy came in. 

All he got was a small curl of the lip in response, but he was quiet, so Harry carried on with his lesson. 

He was going through more history, as well as explaining how the use of potions came into play alongside defense. 

Harry explained that they would be working alongside the Potions Master, and sometime in the year they would practise using potions alongside defence spells. 

His eyes sought out Astley despite himself, and the boy was watching him with a smug smile. Harry frowned slightly, turning to face the class. 

“Something you want to add, Astley?”

The boy glanced down but shrugged. Harry huffed, crossing his arms as he waited for the kid to get out what he so obviously wanted to share.

“I’m just surprised,” said Astley, far too sly for his own good. “That you would work with Professor Malfoy.”

Harry ground his teeth a little, watching as the class muttered to each other. 

“And why's that?” asked Harry, although he knew he was walking into a trap. 

“Well everyone knows that Professor Malfoy and yourself weren’t exactly friends at school…”

Harry sighed heavily. “That might have been true then, but we’re adults now. Adults work past their differences.”

Astley pursed his lips, looking suspicious.

“Huh.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “What, Astley?”

“It’s just… well, Professor Malfoy-”

Astley looked around, as though he shouldn’t be saying what he was saying. None of the other students looked at him, all of them staring at their desks. Harry bristled, curious despite himself.

“Just speak, Astley.”

“Professor Malfoy told us that… that he didn’t think you should be our Defence teacher. He said that you’re - what was the word? - ah yes, a prat. He doesn’t think you should be teaching here.”

The room was deadly silent, and Harry was battling between scolding Astley for lying, and hunting down Malfoy. Surely… surely Malfoy wouldn’t say anything like that to students, even if it was what he thought? 

Harry must have looked doubtful, because Astley smirked. The Saviour turned back to the chalkboard, ignoring what the Slytherin had said in favour of distracting himself with the lesson. 

* * *

“Malfoy!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, turning mid-step. He saw Potter walking down the corridor, fast paced to catch up. He hadn’t seen much of the Golden Prat during the week, but he’d heard that Potter was getting into his stride. 

“Potter,” said Malfoy politely, his eyes fluttering over the man as he came to a stop. A few students were milling about as they enjoyed their lunch hour, but the majority of them were in the Great Hall. Draco himself had been heading there for a quick sandwich. 

“Malfoy, we need to talk.”

Potter’s face was calm and serene, but his eyes were absolutely blazing. Draco frowned, wondering what had set the Saviour off. 

“Alright,” said the blonde, gesturing to his right where an archway led out to a small outside courtyard. The two of them walked out of the castle halls and into a little patch of sunlight.

“How can I-”

“What have you been saying to the First Years?” interrupted Potter, his voice low but harsh, making Draco jump in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

Potter seemed to be trying to rein himself in and his hands fiddled with the hem of his vest. 

“I’ve had my First Years telling me that you’ve been saying things in Potions. About… me. Us. When we were young.”

Potter was pointedly avoiding his eyes and Draco was racing through his memories of the past week. 

The blonde blanched as something came back to him, and Potter’s eyes hardened as he saw something shift in Draco’s face. 

“What have you been saying?” hissed Potter, and Draco ran his tongue over his lower lip. 

“Let me guess,” said Draco as he straightened himself. “Jonathan Astley?”

Potter’s brows drew together and Draco took a long breath. He shuffled from foot to foot, glancing around the small courtyard. A few passing students had slowed down to watch them. They shouldn’t be so open. Merlin only knew what rumours would start. 

“What did you say, Malfoy?” 

Potter’s voice was like steel, and Draco winced. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he said after a moment. The incredulous look on Potter’s face soon turned to disbelief and then suspicion, so the Potions Master was quick to elaborate. 

“He was asking me questions, first about Potions and then about how I enjoyed the subject when I was young. He was mentioning you and the Dark Lord… I didn’t realise he was leading me until he got me admitting that I thought you were…” Draco huffed out a breath, feeling like the idiot he was.  “He asked me if I thought you were a prat when you were young. I said that we were all prats, but I didn’t deny it.”

Honestly, that boy was… the epitome of Slytherin manipulation. Draco hadn’t been prepared and had just been chatting while the students worked on their potions. He shouldn’t have let his defenses down. But Astley had seemed so innocent and curious… fucking Slytherins. 

Potter’s cheeks had flushed and Draco looked at the heavens for help. 

“Why would you -” spluttered Potter. His eyes were dark and Draco realised that he had completely messed up whatever progress they had made with their relationship. 

_ If it could have ever been called that. _

"Potter," said Draco, warning clear in his voice as he saw more students stopping to watch them. 

"I knew it," snapped Potter, his voice loud enough to carry. Draco winced. 

"I knew you hadn't changed. Still the same arrogant twat you always were!" 

Draco felt a flush of anger colour his cheeks. It was hard not to rise to the insults, and the young, immature part of him wanted to throw back as good as he got. 

"Potter, I didn't call you anything," he said quietly, turning away from the gathering crowd. "Just calm down and we can talk about this like adults." 

Potters eyes flashed. 

"Sorry, am I not mature enough for you?" hissed the Saviour, and Draco was hard pressed not to roll his eyes. 

"I didn't say that. Stop putting words in my mouth." 

"Well I wouldn't need to if you kept it closed."

Draco took a long breath through his nose. 

"You're being ridiculous," said the blonde after a moment, turning on his heel. He heard Potter scoff as he started away, but soon slammed to a halt at the Saviour's next words. 

"I should have known you would favour your House. Just like Snape." 

Draco spun on his heel, marching back over to Potter so fast and hard that the Saviour looked momentarily shocked. It was quickly replaced with that reckless Gryffindor courage and Draco wanted to snarl. 

"Don't you  _ ever _ insinuate that I indulge in favouritism," he seethed, very aware they were being openly crowded now. "I may have been a prat in my youth, and yes I can still be one now. But I am a  _ damn _ good teacher and I will  _ never _ play into that petty diversity. So I suggest you  _ shut your mouth,  _ Potter."

Potter's eyes narrowed and he saw his hands twitching, probably getting ready to draw his wand. Draco met the idiot's fury with his own, and there was nothing but charged silence around him. 

"Professors!" 

The two of them snapped their heads up to see Minerva charging towards them, an absolute brewing in her eyes. Draco stepped back from Potter and lowered his head, but it took the Gryffindor to be stared down by the Headmistress before he did the same. 

Minerva stood and stared hard at them both for what felt like an eternity. 

"Professor Malfoy," she said, her voice shrill with her anger. "I shall see you after your lesson in my office. Professor Potter - I will see you now." 

Draco nodded before he turned, ignoring the glare that Potter sent his way. He shooed the students away from the courtyard before he made his way back to the dungeons. 

As he reached his classroom, he realised with a frustrated grunt that he had the First Years. Specifically Astley. 

And as he assumed, the young Slytherin was beaming from ear to ear as he followed his classmates into the room. Draco wasted no time, launching into his lesson about the properties of wolfsbane. He'd gotten almost an hour in before the lad raised his arm. 

"Yes?" 

"Professor, did you have a fight with Mr Potter?" 

Draco saw all the students watching him and he huffed out a small breath. 

"We had a disagreement, Mr Astley, but that is all. No one needs ever resort to violence.  _ Professor _ Potter and I will meet to discuss our disagreements later." 

The smile that stayed on Astley's face was haunting. Mostly because he recognised it. 

A few more students tried to ask what had happened, but Draco quickly shut them down. 

"If any more questions are asked that do not relate to potions or their ingredients, I will be taking ten points from each House for everyone one of you." 

Silence descended across the room and Draco gave a firm nod. 

As they drifted into the second hour, and the students were working on their Health poultices, Draco could feel himself calming. He slipped easily back into the role of teacher, leaning over the students and helping them as they prepared ingredients. 

"A little thinner," he said softly to a petite Gryffindor girl. Bennett? 

She was hacking at the ginger root and it was a massacre. Draco walked to his shelf and grabbed another root for her before leaning down next to her. 

"It helps to use the ruler," he explained, placing the ruler on top of the root and cutting off a perfect inch of it. 

Bennett was watching him with wide eyes, but when he offered the ruler and knife to her, her face narrowed with determination. He watched as she carefully lined up the ruler, and cut a perfect inch. 

Draco smiled as she turned to him, beaming with pride. 

"Well done, Miss Bennett. Five points to Gryffindor." 

The few students that heard me cheered and I nodded before getting back to my feet. Bennett was blushing from the praise of her classmates, and Draco chuckled to himself as he wandered around the room. Some of them were doing well, others were trying their best - but some, and unsurprisingly it was Astley - were just pissing around. 

Draco walked towards them, looking over their table to see that one Slytherin girl was working on the potion while Astley and his other friend, Dimmock, were chatting. 

"And why is Miss Virgil doing all the work here, gentlemen?" 

They turned to look at Draco, and while Dimmock had the good sense to look sheepish and jump to help Virgil - Astley, however, just gave him an unimpressed scowl. 

Draco raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. Astley shrugged, and Draco felt his patience wearing very thin. 

"Do you believe you're exempt from this practical, Mr Astley?" 

The boy shrugged again, tapping his quill against his notebook. 

"My father said that I'm too advanced for this class. He's working on getting me moved into Third Year potions. You do know my father, Professor Malfoy? Rennard Astley?"

It took all of his strength not to roll his eyes. How many times had he name-dropped his own father in hopes of scaring away people? 

Too many. 

But he was sure he hadn't been as obvious as  _ that. _

“Is that so?” asked Draco, crossing his arms behind his back. The class had quieted around them and Astley was positively preening under all the attention. 

“Then can you tell me, Mr Astley - what are the four properties of Hairy Bog-Weed?” 

Astley’s smirk faltered. 

“Uh - heat, sleep, purification and… oh, and antiseptic.”

Draco inclined his head. “Very good. So what would its purpose be within the Liquid  _ Magenta _ potion?”

Astley’s eyes fluttered and Draco had to hold back a smirk. 

“Uh, s-sleep.”

“No. Purification. And what would it’s property be if it’s boiled to one hundred degrees before it’s added to a  _ Capula _ poultice?”

“Uh…”

Draco tilted his head. “Mr Astley?”

“Well I haven’t learned that yet! I’ve not started studying the Third Year potions!”

Draco blinked slowly. “That is a First Year poultice.”

There was a round of snickering through the class, and Astley’s cheeks turned bright red. His eyes darkened but Draco was quick to quiet the class. 

“No. We do not laugh at others in this class,” he announced, to which the children looked anywhere but at their teacher. “Not knowing something is never a bad thing; it’s the unwillingness to learn the correct answer which makes us wrong. Mr Astley,” he said, turning to the boy who was steadily sinking back into his seat. 

“I congratulate you on your enthusiasm, and I’m glad that you have an interest in Potions. Perhaps, with careful studying, you could certainly be well ahead of the year. But for now, you will continue to learn the basics alongside your classmates. Understood?”

The boy just nodded, sullen, before he scooted around the table and joined Virgil and Dimmock. 

Draco nodded again before he gestured for the others to continue. Feeling better that he hadn’t risen to the boy’s attitude, he continued to guide his class as they completed their basic Health Poultices. 

* * *

Harry blinked slowly as he fell back against the hard chair. He knew he was staring like an idiot, but his brain was trying to catch up with what he was seeing. 

Malfoy was walking around the classroom, talking quietly with a few students here and there. He answered questions, and was even  _ giving _ points to  _ Gryffindors _ . It was absolutely baffling. 

He could feel Minerva’s eyes on him as he watched. 

Harry could feel his cheeks flushing with shame. Malfoy was… a good teacher. Kind. Compassionate. Strict when he needed to be but… the kind of potions teacher that Harry had always wanted when he was younger. Maybe if he’d had someone like Malfoy in his youth, he would have taken more interest in Potions. 

_ And I compared him to Snape. _

Harry slowly took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, just as Minerva stepped in front of him. She waved her wand over the tall mirror and it shimmered before reflecting his own dumbfounded expression instead 

“Now, Harry,” said the Headmistress, walking slowly around her desk before taking her seat. Harry swivelled in his own seat and faced her, but he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

“I’m not in the habit of spying on my staff,” she said, crossing her fingers on top of the desk. “But in this case, I thought that witnessing Draco’s teaching skills yourself would be the only way you would believe me when I say; he is a  _ fantastic  _ professor. I have had hundreds of parents outraged that he is teaching their children, and it has taken some of my credibility to keep him here. However, I hope you can see why I have. He has never had a student fail in his class. Some of them scrape by, of course, but he has put hours of personal time helping those that struggle, and those who exceed - he’s put in even more time with them. Not once have I had a complaint about Mr Malfoy from a student.”

With each word, Harry was sinking further into his chair. The silence between them was long, and heavy, and Harry wanted the floor to swallow him whole. 

“I think you know what you have to do, Harry,” said Minerva softly. Harry flinched, but he nodded and straightened himself up. 

“I have to apologise.”

Minerva smiled faintly and inclined her head. 

“Yes. But, of course, there’s the fact that you were arguing with another teacher in front of students. I’ve decided that if the two of you are to act like children, then you will be punished as such.”

Harry let out a snort. “Like detention?”

He chuckled, but then he caught the absolutely unabashed smirk on the Headmistress’s face and he blanched. 

_ Oh… oh dear.  _


	8. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I spent over two hours researching and writing out the Weasley family tree. Yes I loved every minute of it. I also kept all the facts as exact as I could, from the information available. Let me know what you think! Comments appreciated! Much love!

“This is bloody ridiculous!”

Draco let his eyes flutter closed and he nursed his temples as a heady headache hovered. The hall in front of them was dark towards the end, but the closer they got to it, the more sconces along the wall burst into life. 

It had been eerie a few years ago, but now he just put it down to one of the castle’s many quirks. 

“I can’t believe we have this for a _whole week_ ,” continued Potter by his side, and Draco was steadily reaching his limit. 

Yes, he understood the frustration. Patrol duty during the night wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was only until midnight. The teachers would normally take it in turns, but Minerva had put Potter and himself on it for a week straight. 

“You should be glad this is at the beginning of the year,” said Draco quietly, glancing to his left and down a corridor that led towards the outer courtyard. 

“What do you mean?” asked Potter, turning to him curiously. It was a reprieve from the man’s whinging at least. 

“Closer to the end of the year, professors don’t get much sleep, considering they’re planning and executing exams.”

Potter’s face dropped and he turned to look ahead. Draco smirked as he looked the opposite way. He had a smart comment on his tongue, about Potter not expecting it to be as easy as he first thought. But that would only antagonise him, even if it was true. This was supposed to be building ‘camaraderie’ between them, although it seemed futile. 

They continued down the hall, turning towards the Grand Staircase, in an awkward if not slightly heavy silence. They hadn’t spoken since the spat in the courtyard earlier, and Draco had taken his dinner in his room. True, it could be construed as sulking, but damn it. Potter’s words had riled him up, and pissed him off beyond measure. He had had to take the time he could to prepare for this patrol, because otherwise he would have gone on for another round. 

It was stupid, he knew, and he thought he was better than Potter’s immature antics. Alas, he was only human, and Potter was the only one who could ever rile him up so badly. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco jumped at the voice suddenly piercing his thoughts, and he winced as he felt a sharp pain shoot down his spine from the jolt. He covered the movement by clearing his throat, but from the way Potter was watching him - he’d failed miserably. 

“Yes…?” prompted Draco after a moment of Potter watching him with those annoyingly intense green eyes. 

Potter frowned and he glanced down, as though he’d forgotten what he was going to say. Draco raised a slender platinum eyebrow before he looked forward again. They paused at the top of the Grand Staircase, waiting for the stairs to move and meet them. It was weirdly still, however, and Draco tapped his foot on the edge of the floor. 

Nothing. 

“Why isn’t it moving?” asked Potter dumbly, and Draco turned to him with an unimpressed look. 

“I don’t know, Potter,” said Draco after a moment, nearly swallowing his tongue with the effort of restraining his sarcasm. 

Potter leaned over the edge and Draco nearly reached out to grab him. He was so used to kids doing stupid things that it was becoming second nature to stop them. As he looked over at the childish wonder on Potter’s face, Draco decided that the Golden Prat was probably just as likely to kill himself.

“What were you going to say, anyway?” asked Draco as he leaned on the banister, deciding that if the stairs weren’t moving, then they might as well get all this out in the open. 

Potter gave him a side-glance before he continued to look down at the fatal drop in front of him. 

“I was going to say that I’m sorry.”

The silence that followed the words seemed… heavy, and Draco had no idea why. He had to admit that he was surprised. It wasn’t generally in Potter’s nature to be the bigger man - not when it came to Draco, anyway. But the man was brave beyond sense, so he supposed it wasn’t that big of a surprise. 

He was still lost for words, though. He swallowed hard before he cleared his throat and straightened himself. 

“Yes, well. Apology accepted.”

The tension in the air thickened as Potter turned and gave him an unimpressed look. It was almost funny. Draco sighed dramatically before waving his hand dismissively. 

“I’m sorry, as well,” he said slowly, as though it pained him. Potter just rolled his eyes before he leaned back, sitting himself down with his legs hanging over the edge. 

Draco frowned, but didn’t say anything. 

Potter’s legs swung back and forth as he folded his hands in his lap, looking like he was studying the array of portraits along the wall. The figures inside were sleeping or reading, and paying them no mind. 

“I was… wrong,” said Potter slowly, keeping his eyes on the portraits. “About you being a bad teacher. I shouldn’t have said it anyway, I know that. But… well, Minerva showed me.”

Draco tilted his head, stepping closer to the Saviour. He tensed his jaw before he slowly sank down next to Potter. He crossed his legs rather than letting them dangle over the edge, because those stairs could be fucking quick when they wanted to be. He didn’t want to be legless on top of spineless. 

“What did she show you?” asked the blonde, noting that there was still at least a foot between them. Potter didn’t seem to mind, instead arching his neck to look up at the ceiling. 

“She showed me you, in your potions lesson. I think it was only supposed to be, like, a little snippet. But I watched the whole lesson.”

Draco hummed in the back of his throat. He felt like something watched him sometimes, but he always put it down to his paranoia. Although he did suspect that Minerva checked up on him now and then. 

It was always in the classroom, so that was all that mattered. He had nothing to hide. 

“Okay…” said Draco slowly, wondering where this was going. “And did you enjoy my lesson?”

Potter let out a small laugh, turning to look at him for the first time. He had a small smile lingering on his lips, and his eyes were dancing in the faint sconce-light. 

“I did, actually. Made me think that I probably would have enjoyed it more at school if you’d been my teacher.”

Draco found himself searching Potter’s eyes for sarcasm out of habit, but for once his expression was open and honest. Like he was trying to prove to the blonde that he was being truthful. That he was being sincere. 

“Let’s be honest,” said Draco with a small smirk. “You never would have been good at potions.”

Potter let out a surprised bark of laughter, and Draco released the breath he had been holding. 

“True,” said Potter around another chuckle. “But seriously, you’re a really good teacher. You’re patient and understanding, and you go at a pace that’s easy enough to follow but not slow enough to be boring. I feel like I could learn a lot from you.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he found himself staring at the other. Not looking for signs of teasing, but just because… that was probably the nicest thing Potter had ever said to him. That anyone had said to him in a long while. 

He knew in his heart-of-hearts that he was a good teacher, but to hear someone else say it… it made him feel both proud and bashful. It was an odd combination. 

Draco didn’t know what expression was on his face, but it made Potter turn and look out over the staircase again. 

“I know I can be a prick sometimes,” said Potter, although it didn’t seem like he was talking to anyone in particular. “It’s kind of a defense mechanism, if I’m honest. I don’t know. There’s just been so much shit and I have to remind myself that not everyone is out to get me.”

Draco licked his lower lip. He didn’t want to interrupt the monologue, because it was the first time Potter had actually been himself around the blonde. Draco was going to call it a success. 

“So… I am sorry. I’ll try to be better. But I think we both need a way to - to move forward, you know? Get past this animosity. Any ideas?”

Draco looked away as Potter turned to him, so it wasn’t so blatantly obvious that he’d been staring. 

“Well, it’s probably just a case of time and familiarity. Spending time together would ease us into some kind of acceptance? If that makes sense?”

Potter watched him curiously for a few moments. 

“What, like hanging out?”

Draco opened his mouth and took a breath, before snapping it closed and blowing air through his lips. 

“Not necessarily. We could just be in the same room, I suppose. Maybe marking homework in the evening? We don’t have to talk or anything, but it would get us used to each other to a certain extent.”

Potter pursed his lips as a little crease appeared between his eyebrows. The one that meant he was thinking hard. 

“I guess… that makes sense.”

Draco inclined his head, opening his mouth to explain once again that they didn’t have to socialise when a deep rumble sounded through the stone and he felt it trembling under his arse. 

The blonde saw the staircase suddenly moving towards them, and he sucked in a breath just as Potter yanked his legs up. The blonde sat frozen, eyes wide and heart hammering. He turned to see the same expression on Potter’s face. 

They held their breath for a shocked moment, before letting it out in a nervous, relieved chuckle. 

Draco gestured for the Saviour to go first. And like the reckless Gryffindor he was, Potter did so with a grin.

* * *

At first it was weird, awkward. They wouldn't really speak aside from the occasional discussion about the students. Their week of patrols together went relatively smoothly, except maybe the time they bumped into two Seventh Year Ravenclaws getting rather frisky at the back of the library. 

Harry had blushed crimson but Malfoy had just rolled his eyes, muttering something about teenage hormones. 

After their patrol, they started to meet in the evenings. At first it was in either Malfoy's office or Harry's. They would sit opposite each other, marking homework, making lesson plans. It was about a week of sitting in almost complete silence that Harry burst out laughing, covering his mouth as he held a piece of parchment in his hand. 

Malfoy had looked at him, one perfect eyebrow raised, until Harry had turned the parchment over.

At the bottom on the small report on the _Vermillius_ spell was a crude drawing of Harry. He was holding out his wand and in a bubble next to his face were the words "fur minions!". Harry snickered as Draco looked it over before giving Harry a confused look. 

"It's Annalise Woodland's work," he explained, still grinning to himself. Draco frowned before realisation dawned on him and the potions professor let out a bark of laughter. 

Woodland was a muggle-born First Year, and had contracted meningitis when she was younger, leaving her deaf. 

She had the cochlear implant, but it wouldn’t work around so much magic. As far as he knew it was being worked on by the Muggle Studies teacher so that it would still function around magic. 

That left Woodland with reading lips and notes, but because she didn’t understand the Latin of the spells, she basically had to guess until it was written on the board. She’d made a habit of writing down what she thought Harry had said on the back of her work, and now it seemed to have moved on to drawings as well. 

Malfoy shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips as he passed the parchment back to Harry. 

From that point, for some reason, it seemed like things had softened between them. Conversations weren’t so hard to start or continue, and they started to move onto more personal things. Harry learned that they had similar taste in music, although whereas Harry preferred classic rock, Malfoy preferred Indie. The blonde had even admitted, albeit shyly, that he enjoyed some muggle music.

Their meetings started to move to outside spaces when the weather was nice, or in the library when they needed to focus. Sometimes, very rarely, they met in the Teachers Lounge. 

The space was luxurious, a massive room with so many amenities that Harry didn’t know what half of them did. 

Before he knew it, the castle was preparing for the Halloween Feast. Harry had been walking towards the Great Hall for lunch when he nearly smacked straight into Malfoy. 

“Merlin, Potter,” muttered the Potions Master, and Harry just gave him a small grin. 

“Hey, I’m the one that’s blind.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but a ghost of a smirk lingered on his lips. 

“You coming to lunch?” asked Harry as he stepped around Malfoy, nodding towards the Great Hall. 

Malfoy glanced down, and Harry noticed that he seemed paler than usual. There was no colour in his cheeks, and his eyes seemed dull compared to their usual brightness. There were dark marks under his eyes as well, which stood out the more Harry noticed them. 

“You alright, Malfoy?” asked Harry, surprised at his own concern. 

Malfoy flicked his head up, his brows narrowed, as though he expected Harry to be teasing. It happened less often now, considering they were getting to know each other as adults. But there were still lingering doubts, of course. 

Malfoy sighed heavily, reaching up and raking his fingers through his floppy hair. 

“I, ah, didn’t sleep well,” he said quietly, but he didn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. 

Harry opened his mouth to ask if he needed anything, but was caught off guard by a small yelp. The two of them turned to see a rush of white smoke dashing through the wall. 

It stopped in front of him, materialising into a corporeal Jack Russell Terrier. 

“Harry!” it barked, the sound an echo of Ron’s voice. “Hermione’s in labour! We’re going to St Mungo's! Hurry up!”

Harry’s eyes went wide as the Terrier jumped before turning and skittering back down the hall. It burst into white mist against the wall, leaving Harry staring at it dumbly. 

He stared at it until he felt something touch his shoulder, jumping as he turned to see Malfoy watching him curiously. 

"Are you going to go…?"

"Oh shit!" Harry gasped, turning on his heel and starting down the corridor. He skidded to a halt before he bolted back, nearly ramming into Malfoy. He steadied himself by gripping the blonde's shoulders. 

"My classes-"

"I'll get them covered," cut in Malfoy smoothly, before he stepped back from Harry's grip and made a shooing motion with his hands. 

"Go support Granger." 

Harry beamed at Malfoy before he turned again and this time kept running until he reached the first available floo fire. 

He stepped into the busy main floor of St Mungo's, a little disorientated with the sudden change of scenery. Witches and Wizards of all kinds were walking, talking and sitting in a colourful array, and Harry was briefly reminded of the bustle of the Ministry. 

He shut his thoughts down, heading over to the plump witch sitting behind a desk under a sign reading 'Reception'. 

"I'm here for Hermione Granger," he burst out, causing the witch to look up at him with an irked expression. He saw paperwork laid out before her and she made no move to help him. 

Instead she continued scribbling down on the parchment, ignoring Harry completely. The Saviour ground his teeth and held his breath to try and calm himself down. After a few agonisingly slow moments, the witch finally finished what she was doing and set her quill down. 

“How can I help you?” she asked, her voice clipped and nasally. Harry scowled but cleared his throat. 

“I’m here for Hermione Granger. She’s in labour.”

The witch reached over and pulled out a massive tome, before using a short wand to flip the cover. Harry could see words swimming and shifting over the pages, before it finally landed on one page titled ‘Mrs Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley’. 

The words were appearing slowly on the page, as though someone was writing notes somewhere else. The receptionist looked over the words before she nodded. 

“Down the hall, first left, second right, down the stairs and into the Maternity Ward.”

Harry blinked as the witch pointed with her sword. He followed her line of sight, but there were many different halls, twists, turns, and people. Harry opened his mouth, looking at the woman helplessly. 

She huffed before she flicked the tip of her wand. A bolt of shimmering golden light soared to the ceiling, before it started a pretty glowing trail down the hall. Harry gave the woman a small smile, to which she inclined her head, and then continued with whatever she was doing. 

Harry kept his eye on the little trail the light made, following it through the maze of the hospital. He could hear so many different things; growls, snorts, squeals, laughter. He could also smell the potent magic, as well as the acrid potions. It was nothing like a muggle hospital - which he’d only been in once when he was young. That was all disinfectant and mechanical bleeping. 

Finally he saw two double doors with the sign ‘Madame Guenivere Maternity ward’ above it. 

He pushed them open, smiling at what he saw. 

The room was large and circular, with a comfortable sitting area in the middle. To the left was another reception desk. The mediwitches here were wearing soft green robes, and they seem a lot more relaxed than the other medi-staff he’d seen on his way through. But what drew his attention was the gaggle of Weasley’s in the middle of the room. 

“Harry, my boy!”

Arthur Weasley spotted him first, causing the rest of them to turn. Harry smiled brightly as Arthur dragged him into a bone-crushing hug. Considering the man was getting on, his embrace was just as strong and loving as it had ever been. 

“Let go, you’ll crush him!” flapped a familiar, shrill voice. Harry chuckled as Molly pulled him into an even tighter hug, and Harry held on for longer than he probably should have. She smelled like sweets and cinnamon and _home_. As though she sensed he needed it, Molly held him until he pulled away, but the greying witch gently cupped his cheeks before she kissed his forehead.

“How are you, dear?” she asked softly, but Harry didn’t get a chance to respond. 

“Hello Harry,” said a soft voice next to him, and Harry smiled faintly. Ginny was wearing a loose cardigan and jeans, as well as fluffy boots. Her hair was tied up messily, and her eyes were soft as she pulled him into a quick hug. 

Harry said hello to Bill and Percy, as well as a very tanned George. He’d only just come back from visiting Charlie in Romania, and despite the small smile on his face, his eyes were still brimming with sadness. 

Harry hugged him, despite his withdrawn demeanor, and he was glad when he felt the lone twin squeeze him back ever so briefly. 

Fleur seemed to materialise from around a corner, her arms laden with snacks, but she soon dropped them at her husband in favour of sweeping Harry into the familiar two side cheek kiss. 

“How’s the kids?” asked Harry as he was drawn into the rabble of a family, sitting down next to Percy while Fleur took his other side. She spoke quickly in her soft accent, telling him all about Victoire, Dominique and Louis. They were staying with her parents for the weekend, apparently, and she was ever so glad for the break. Harry bit back a laugh as she hinted to the fact that Hermione’s labour was interrupting her time with Bill, but he was used to brushing off her half-remarks. 

Harry was so swept up in catching up with the Weasleys’ that he almost didn’t notice the other man sitting amongst the red-heads. 

The man gave him a small smile, and Harry had to look closely before he realised that it was Hermione’s dad, Wendell. He was being - well, quite frankly, _interrogated_ \- by Arthur, and Harry couldn't stop a laugh. 

Molly told him that Ron and Hermione’s mum, Monica, were in the labour ward with Hermione. She told him that Hermione had technically started getting contractions yesterday, but she had fobbed off all concern until her waters broke and in they came. Harry rolled his eyes. He had an image of Hermione flapping her arms at Ron as she fought the inevitability of her labour. 

Sitting with the Weasleys’, and seeing them all here to support their family, it warmed Harry’s heart. He ended up just watching them. Percy’s wife, Audrey, was at home with their two kids, Molly and Lucy. 

George was constantly dragged into conversation with his brothers, and despite looking a little thin and out of place, he did crack a few smiles. 

Harry was sitting back, nursing a styrofoam cup of really bad coffee, when he felt something brush his side. He turned to see Ginny smiling at him, nursing her own awful drink. 

“So,” she said, smiling mischievously. “How’s it being a professor?”

Harry let out a chuckle, glancing up thoughtfully before he gave her a confident smile. 

“It’s hard. And stressful. And really, really brilliant.”

Her grin was genuine and proud, and for a moment Harry remembered why he had loved her so much. It wasn’t meant to be, but he hoped they could still be friends. 

They talked for hours. Harry told her all about Hogwarts, and being a professor, and even mentioned Malfoy. She wrinkled her nose at it, but she listened, and Harry explained that he was getting used to him. Although her soft brown eyes did take a curious edge to them, and Harry quickly steered the conversation away.

“So I heard you’re in the running as the next Seeker for the Harpies?” he grinned, and Ginny giggled. She tucked some hair behind her ear before she started to talk about it, about how she loved it, and how she hoped that she would get the position. 

At about eleven at night, Harry and the Weasleys’ had quieted down. Molly was tucked against Arthur, Fleur and Bill had left some time ago, and Percy was still chatting quietly to George. Harry was dozing on the chair, his head flopping about when he felt a gentle shake on his shoulder. 

He opened his bleary eyes to see a very ruffled, flushed, but absolutely ecstatic Ron beaming at him. Harry opened his mouth, but Ron put his finger over his lips. Harry saw that Ron hadn’t roused anyone else, except Percy and George, but they just gave their little brother a thumbs up. 

Ron motioned for Harry to follow, which he did, gently extracting his shoulder from under a sleeping Ginny’s cheek. 

He winced as he stretched his stiff legs, before he wrapped an arm around Ron’s shoulder. The two of them walked quietly into the ward. 

Harry knew he’d remember that moment for the rest of his life. 

Walking into a dimly lit ward, with two beds on either side. Hermione was sitting in the far left corner, soft lights floating above her. Her face was tired, and a little pale, and her hair was absolutely wild. 

But she was smiling, and holding a tiny little bundle in her arms.

“Oh my… Ron, she’s absolutely beautiful,” whispered Harry as he got closer. He squeezed Ron under his arm, to which the redhead chuckled. As he reached Hermione, Harry leaned down to kiss her cheek softly. 

Ron sat on the bed by Hermione’s side and Harry sat on the chair, leaning over in amazement as the witch opened her arms out. 

The tiny, perfect little face was all scrunched up, and she had a few marks on her face, but she was absolutely beautiful. Harry felt his heart fit to burst as he reached out, gently putting the tip of his finger against the smallest fingers he’d ever seen. 

The baby grabbed on to him, her whole hand wrapping around his finger. Harry’s jaw fell open, and he could feel emotion pricking his eyes. 

“She’s… beautiful,” he whispered, looking up at his best friends. They were exhausted and elated, and absolutely glowing. 

“What’s her name?” asked Harry, glancing down as the baby yawned, poking out her teeny tongue. 

“Rose,” said Hermione, glancing down at the most precious gift in the world. “She’s our little Rose.”

Harry let out a small laugh, brushing his finger ever so slightly against Rose’s cheek. 

“Rose,” repeated the Saviour, before he leaned close to Hermione. He rested his head against her’s, while Ron put his mouth against her shoulder.

The Golden Trio stared down in wonder at the most wonderful kind of magic they had ever seen, and Harry knew that he never had to worry about not having a family of his own one day. 

He had one, and they were perfect. 


	9. Foundations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho, what's this? Another chapter?? Yes indeed. I'm on fire!! And plus there's a scene I really wanna get to in the next chapter sooo Imma go do that. Enjoy! Leave comments!

The steam coiled and climbed over his body as he slipped himself slowly from the edge and into the sweet-smelling water. He hissed as the heat engulfed his legs first, making them tingle and sting. It was almost unbearable, but he knew he needed to do it. Pushing through the uncomfortable heat, Draco continued to sink himself further into the water. 

He groaned as his lower half settled in the groove around the edge of the bath, and the water licked up his spine. He held onto the edge tightly until his body was completely submerged. The water up to his neck, and the blonde swallowed thickly as he fought the impulse to jump out. 

It wouldn’t scold him, but he knew that he was only a few degrees off it. As uncomfortable as it was, the relief to his spine was instant. Draco sighed as his muscles were forced to relax under the heat, and release the tension that was causing him so much pain. 

He winced as he scooted himself further along the porcelain until he felt the curve of the bath. He settled inside it, allowing it to cradle him. There was a small cushion by his head and he released a long breath as the rest of his body began to relax. 

The bath itself was massive - more a pool, really. But each corner was shaped differently, allowing Draco to lie or sit in four different positions. He hadn’t made the bath, it had just been part of his bathroom when he moved in, and at first he’d thought it was something from Minerva or Poppy. 

Now he didn’t quite believe that, considering his rooms changed often to suit his differing needs. He’d come to conclude that it was the castle itself. It was more than brick and stone. It was a living entity, and it was aware. It seemed to like him, though, so that was all that mattered. 

As his body adjusted to the temperature, Draco ran his hands back and forth through the water. The sickly sweet smell of the water turned his stomach a little, but it was the most potent muscle-relaxant he could make himself. Coupled with the water, it was usually enough to disperse his back spasms before they escalated.

The pain potion he made for himself was time consuming, and generally left him a little loopy for a few days, so if he could find other means of stopping the spasms, then he would take it. 

The faint sconce-light lulled him into a semi-conscious state, his restless night catching up to him. Draco knew he couldn't go another night without sleep, but try as he might, he couldn't get comfortable. It was Merlin only knew what time at night and he hoped he could get a few hours in before the morning. 

A yawn cracked his jaw as he dozed in the water, glad that the tub was enchanted to keep its temperature. 

His head dropped to the side as he tried to keep himself awake, and it was only a loud crash from somewhere outside that brought him back to his senses. Draco turned his head, blinking through the steam as he listened. 

“Ah...balls, stupid…”

Draco’s lower lip curled as he heard muffled words, before he sighed heavily and pulled himself out of the tub. There was no immediate pain, so he hoped that the bath had worked. Grabbing his bathrobe, Draco wrapped himself up and padded into his lounge. 

The thump and stumble got louder, until he realised it was coming from outside his rooms. 

Grabbing his wand from the table, Draco cast a quick  _ tempus _ , eyes widening as he saw it was nearly three am. 

“Hello?” he heard, and Draco’s brows pretty much hit his hairline as he recognised the voice. Pulling open his front door, Draco saw something stumble before they went arse-over-elbow onto the stone floor. 

The blonde padded forward barefoot, before he leaned over the flushed and unfocused Harry bloody Potter. 

“Malfoy?”

“Potter? What… what are you doing?”

“Malfoy!” Draco winced as Potter practically shouted his name, and he realised very quickly that the Golden Prat was  _ drunk _ . 

“What the hell are you doing?” hissed Draco, leaning down and yanking Potter to his feet. The twit stumbled before he grabbed onto Draco, basically embracing him as he steadied himself.

“Malfoy,” said Harry excitedly, his grin sloppy and wide. “Oh Malfoy, you should see her! She’s so - so, so beautiful,” he grinned, swaying as he held out his hands about ten inches apart. “This big! She’s this big! The - the most teeny tiny little human you’ve ever seen!”

Draco balked, throwing his head around from the sheer volume that Potter was gushing at. If another teacher came out and found Potter drunk, on school grounds, in the middle of the week… Well, Minerva wouldn’t be happy. 

Scoffing loudly, Draco grabbed Potter’s arm and unceremoniously yanked the idiot forward and through the door to his room. 

“Oi,” muttered Potter, before he frowned and glanced around. Draco closed his door before he rubbed his face. 

“Wow…” gasped Potter, his eyes wide behind his specs as he looked around the room. “Lookit this - this is some fancy rooms,” he giggled, stumbling forward and reaching out to touch a vase on a stand. Draco huffed, grabbing Potter’s hand before he could destroy all of his stuff. 

Potter looked at him and snickered, before those intense emerald eyes seemed to notice something. Draco looked around, but Potter was staring at  _ him _ . 

“What?” asked the blonde, suddenly incredibly uneasy under that look. Potter’s face was completely frozen, his eyes locked onto something under Draco’s chin. 

The potions master cleared his throat, looking down to see that his robe had opened slightly at the front. He turned, grabbing the edges and wrapping them tightly back around his body. 

“Potter, what the f-”

“Did I…” 

Draco turned, unable to ignore the pain in that voice. As he did, Potter was suddenly closer, his lips parted and eyes wide. Draco opened his mouth to shove off the man’s concern, but was caught off-guard at the gentle brush of fingers to his chest. 

Draco sucked in a surprised breath, glancing down in fascination as Potter pushed the robe aside, revealing Draco's pale, slender chest. 

He shuddered as Potter's roughened fingertips ran over the silver lines etched into his skin. 

They crossed over his chest, and Potter was completely fixated on them. 

"Did I do that?" He whispered, so softly that it damn near broke Draco's heart. But the blonde just shrugged, pulling his robe tight again and trying to shake off the feel of warm fingers against his skin. 

"It doesn't matter," he said stiffly, to which Potter met his eyes. 

"I did that…?" He breathed, and Draco swallowed thickly. 

"It  _ doesn't  _ matter," repeated the blonde, feeling far too flustered to deal with a drunken, apologetic Potter. He stepped away from the man, moving to one of his many cases along the wall. He quickly plucked out a small phial of dark blue liquid, before he ushered Potter onto his sofa. 

"Drink this and get some sleep," instructed the potions master, his voice firm and brokering no argument. 

Potter stared at the phial, his face contorted in contemplation as he gently took it from Draco's hand. 

To his surprise, Potter uncorked and downed the potion without a single hesitation. He passed the empty phial back to Draco before he sighed, leaning back and kicking off his shoes. 

"D'mn - do you… blanket?" mumbled the Saviour, already settling down amongst the cushions. Draco frowned before he went into his bedroom, grabbing the throw from the end of his bed before padding back into the lounge. 

Potter's eyes were closed, the man turned on his side with his hands under his cheek. Draco felt himself reeling from the bizarre situation, before he shook out the throw and laid it over the Golden Boy. 

He was about to turn when he saw Potter still had his glasses on, and the blonde rolled his eyes. 

He reached down and carefully pulled them off, only to have two bleary, unseeing eyes suddenly looking up at him. 

"Thanks," mumbled Potter and Draco nodded. 

"Night, Draco," he breathed. 

The shock had Draco standing there, frozen, for longer than he cared to admit. When he finally gathered himself, Potter was snoring noisily. 

Draco swallowed back the lump in his throat as he put the glasses on the coffee table. 

"Goodnight… Harry."

Draco shook his head before he retired to his bedroom. He did eventually manage to fall into a fitful sleep, but it was definitely hard won.

* * *

Morning greeted him like a sledgehammer to the face, and Harry groaned as he turned away from the sunlight assaulting his eyes. 

There wasn't much room for him to burrow in, which told him that he wasn't in his own bed. In fact, he wasn't in a bed at all. 

Harry frowned as he slowly sat up, waiting for the hangover to knock him upside down. 

But… nothing happened. Yes, he felt exhausted and yes, his mouth was gross and dry but… no pain. No headache, or nausea, or tremors. Nothing associated with a normal hangover, and the Saviour wracked his brain for the reason behind it. 

He remembered meeting Rose, and spending time with the new little family. Then Ron had been kicked out for the night so that Hermione could get some rest. They'd planned on going home but the Weasleys' had dragged the new father to the pub, where Wendall explained the muggle tradition of 'wetting the baby's head'. 

Essentially, it meant celebrating the birth with far too many pints on an empty stomach. Ron had only had a few, but George and Arthur had coaxed Harry into quite a few more than that. 

He'd flooed back to the school, but somehow ended up in the wrong part of the Teachers Wing. 

Then there was-

"Good morning, Potter." 

Harry jumped and spun on the sofa, wincing at the bright light streaming through the window. 

Malfoy was sitting at a small table in front of the light, leaning back on a chair and holding a delicate teacup to his lips. 

"Feeling rough?" asked the blonde with a smirk, and Harry groaned as he ruffled his hand through his hair. 

"I actually feel okay," said Harry, getting to his feet and stretching his whole body. He rubbed his eyes before noticing his glasses on the coffee table. 

"Didn't make a tit of myself, did I?" asked Harry as he started around to the little table. He saw a second teacup empty and waiting, so he plopped himself down in the opposite chair to Malfoy.

"No more than usual," quipped the blonde, to which Harry scoffed and poured himself a cup of strong tea. 

There was a Daily Prophet open next to Malfoy's saucer, and the potions master seemed to be reading it. Harry yawned as he stirred some sugar into his drink, realising that this whole situation felt rather… domestic. 

He snorted at his own thought, gaining a glance from those quicksilver eyes. Malfoy looked better than he did yesterday, so he must have gotten some sleep. 

"Care to tell me why you were blind drunk on a Tuesday night?" asked Malfoy, his tone light and teasing. Harry smirked and sipped his brew, leaning back heavily on the hard chair. 

Harry explained the tradition, chortling out laughter as he went through their night. Then he started to talk about Rose, and Harry was pleased to see a soft smile playing on the others lips. 

"I'm glad all are happy and healthy," said Malfoy politely, before he flipped the newspaper closed and held it up. 

Harry frowned as he saw the headline. 

_ War Heroes and Childhood Sweethearts Welcome Baby to the World. _

"How the hell…" muttered Harry, grabbing the paper and scanning for a name. He clucked his tongue as he saw it. 

"How the hell did Skeeter get hold of this info so fast?" 

Malfoy shrugged, nursing the teacup with slender fingers. 

"I think she's being fed information from Peter," said the blonde, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

Peter Skeeter, firstborn son of the media mogul, was a Third Year student in both their classes. He had the same sharp eyes and quick tongue as his mother, and he didn't doubt that he was passing on as much gossip as he could to her.

"Poor sod," said Harry. He couldn't imagine growing up with a vulture-like Skeeter as a mother. Hopefully she was only this ruthless in her job and not her home life. 

Malfoy hummed his agreement as he refilled his teacup from the pot in the middle. The two of them sat in companionable silence as they drank their tea, and Harry came to a bit more. 

"What was in that potion you gave me?" asked Harry as he set down his empty teacup. "I feel great." 

Malfoy smiled faintly, but he didn't meet Harry's eyes. 

"It was a hangover cure, but my own blend. The shop ones always leave a horrible taste in your mouth." Malfoy scrunched up his nose in distaste and Harry chuckled knowingly. 

"I found that if you swap out the moor root for ginger root, it has the same effect but doesn't taste like shit." 

Harry smiled, watching as Malfoy's face went from prideful to bashful in one quick motion. It was a look he had any time he spoke about himself, like he realised he was opening up and shouldn't be. But Harry found he quite liked the boyish excitement when Malfoy spoke about potions. He seemed to enjoy his work, and Harry was glad of it. 

The Saviour opened his mouth to say as much, but hesitated instead. He didn't know how Malfoy would take it. Not that they hadn't been getting along lately, it was just… pushing through that final barrier into friendship. He didn't know whether Malfoy wanted that or not, and Harry was hesitant to find out. He didn't want to ruin the alliance they'd worked so hard on. 

The room went silent again, but this time it felt a little awkward. 

Clearing his throat, Harry slowly got to his feet. 

"I should probably shower and change before breakfast. Thanks for the tea, Malfoy." 

The blonde nodded, before turning his attention back to the newspaper he'd already read.

* * *

"So, what. You like best friends now or something?" 

Harry frowned over the rim of his mug, just as Hermione tsked at his side. 

"Really, Ronald," she scolded, before adjusting the baby against her chest. Harry sipped his tea as Ron pouted at him, but the Saviour couldn't exactly say he was surprised at the reaction. 

The three of them sat in the Weasley-Granger lounge, with Ron and Hermione on the sofa and Harry on the armchair just off to the side. 

They had been back from the hospital for a week, and both of them looked pretty exhausted. Monica had come to stay with them and was currently cooking something delicious-smelling in the kitchen. 

Harry had wanted to give the new parents their space, but had finally come over at Ron's insistence. 

The two of them seemed determined to prove to Harry that they hadn't changed just because they had a baby, even though Harry never said they had. 

"Ow," winced Hermione, shifting the baby again while Harry turned his head, trying to give her some privacy while she nursed.

"He's really not as bad as he used to be," said Harry, but Ron looked less than convinced. 

"But it's  _ Malfoy _ ," said the redhead with a scowl, and Harry sighed heavily. 

"To be fair," said Hermione as she took the baby away and gently held her up to pat her back. "With everything Malfoy's been through, I imagine he really has changed." 

Harry nodded. 

"With the trial and Voldemort - it’s enough to change anyone." 

Hermione tilted her head at Harry, and the Saviour raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, but with his parents too."

"His parents? Weren't they cleared at trial?" 

Hermione blinked at him. "You don't know?" 

"Know what?"

She huffed. "Honesty, Harry. Don't you read the papers?" 

"Not really. You know they're full of trollop." 

Hermione inclined her head as she glanced down at Rose, and then back up to Harry. 

"Well after the war, Lucius was sent to Azkaban to wait out the trial, while Malfoy and Narcissa were kept under house arrest. It… made Lucius unstable. He escaped from the courthouse and went on the run, even though Narcissa and Malfoy were cleared. He came back after the trial and…" 

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, holding Rose closer. 

"And?" pushed Harry, sitting on the edge of his seat. 

"He… thought that Narcissa and Draco had betrayed him, he was completely mad. He… murdered Narcissa, and nearly killed Draco when he tried to defend her. Lucius was arrested but the Malfoys lost everything during the trial, and even though Draco was in St Mungos for a month… he didn't get any help. I didn't even know where he was until you told us he was working at Hogwarts." 

Harry felt his jaw hanging open, and as Hermione finished speaking, he slumped back into his chair. 

He could feel Ron watching him, but he was too stunned to really care. He rubbed his jaw as he tried to process the new information. 

"Sometimes… he seems like he's in pain," said Harry quietly, looking at Hermione as Ron scoffed. 

The Witch nodded her head before she lay Rose down in her arms, rocking her gently. 

"All the papers said different things. Some said that he'd broken his neck, others that all his organs had shut down. The Prophet decided that Lucius broke every bone in his son's body." She rolled her eyes at that, smiling faintly at Ron as he reached over to take the baby. 

"But I'm not sure. All I know is that St Mungo's did the bare minimum to save his life and as soon as the media went onto something else, they kicked him to the curb. It's sad, really." 

Sad felt like an understatement. It was disgusting. Despite what Malfoy did, he redeemed himself in the end - saved Harry's life. The hospital took oaths to heal anyone and everything, despite their background or misdeeds. But clearly they hadn't saved Malfoy, not properly, if the pain he saw on the man's features sometimes was anything to go by. It filled Harry with a righteous rage, and he could feel his cheeks flushing.

"Well he deserved it," grumped the redhead. 

"Ron!" snapped Harry and Hermione at the same time, and the Weasley had enough sense to look a little sheepish. He didn't speak again, instead focusing on the big eyes looking up at him from his arms.

Their conversation about Malfoy dwindled until Harry and Ron were pulling silly faces at the baby and Hermione started to doze.

"Why don't you go have an hour," said Ron gently to his wife, passing Rose over to Harry without hesitation. 

The Saviour felt his whole body tense as he held the little warm bundle in his arms. She felt so delicate and breakable, which made Harry feel massive and clumsy. He leaned back in the chair and supported his arms with his knees, just in case. 

Ron helped Hermione up to bed while Harry stared down at the teeny face poking out of a fluffy pink blanket. She was looking at him without really seeing, her eyes a murky blue. Her hair was a shock of red fluff on her head, and it made Harry smile every time he saw it. 

How could someone ever hurt something they had created? No matter how big that child got, no matter how headstrong or arrogant - they would always be your baby. Knowing Lucius had tried to murder his own child… it boggled Harry. And it filled him with so much guilt.

He really had been a prick to Malfoy when he first arrived. Thinking back, the blonde had tried to be polite but Harry had been convinced that Malfoy was still the same prat he'd always been. 

He had no idea… 

Harry smacked his lips, sticking out his tongue and cooing gently to the baby. He would make it up to Malfoy, he decided. It was the least he could do.


	10. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moooore? Yes. Always more.  
> Part 1! Leave comments!

The soft scraping of the quill against parchment was the only sound in the room, save for the crackle of the burning hearth. It was getting colder now, considering they were in November, and the fires were continuously burning. Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him again for the tenth time in so many minutes, and he fought against the urge to snap at the man. Potter had been unusually quiet since he arrived in Draco's office an hour ago as per their agreement, and he'd been wearing an odd, but familiar expression. Draco was ignoring it in hopes that he would stop, but the man's eyes just got wider and more ridiculous the longer they were quiet. 

As he felt eyes on him again, Draco huffed in frustration and slammed his quill onto the desk. 

Potter jumped at the loud clack, before he scrambled to look busy focusing on the homework he was supposed to be marking.

"So I take it you found out," said Draco bluntly, his voice carrying over the quiet office. Potter glanced up, trying to feign ignorance, but it didn't last long. The Savior sighed wistfully before he put his own quill down. 

"Yes," he said quietly, his eyes brimming with so much pity that it made Draco want to vomit. 

"Well for one you can stop looking at me like that," snapped the blonde, trying his best to reign in his temper but failing miserably. Potter's eyes didn't change, not even annoyed at Draco's attitude. 

"Malfoy, I-" 

Draco held up a hand, stopping the Golden Twit in his tracks. 

"No. I don't want your condolences or your pity or your apologies. What's happened, happened. There's no changing it and no point in dwelling on it." 

Draco didn't want an argument, but he also couldn't sit here drowning in Potter's pity. There had to be a line drawn somewhere. Draco turned back to his work, his quill digging hard into the parchment as he fought to control the tremble of his hands. There was something about Potter knowing what happened that made Draco feel both irrationally angry and oddly disappointed. People had either ignored him after his father's breakdown or they had swarmed him with fake sympathy. No one actually cared, so why did they bother? Potter had been the only one to treat him like a normal human being (even if they were at each other's throats), and now he knew that he might have lost that. That Potter would treat him like some kind of broken doll and they would never have a normal conversation again. 

How pathetic that he had come to enjoy Potter's company so much that he was already mourning the loss of it. His father would be screaming in his cell. 

"When Sirius died, I thought I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved," said Potter faintly, and Draco looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Potter was staring at his parchment, his eyes seeing something long since passed. "I thought I understood pain and love and loss. I mean - people always told me how much my mum loved me. I always knew it, because it was her love that saved me. But I'd never really experienced it. There's one thing to know it, and another to really feel it." 

Draco was clenching hard on his jaw, fighting the urge to lash out and instead focusing on the real, genuine pain in Potter's voice. It grounded him, somehow. 

"I could see it, in Narcissa. How much she loved you. Despite what happened, despite  _ everything _ else - she loved you, and she would give up anything to keep you safe. I'm sorry you lost that, Draco. I'm sorry I can't understand it completely, because I never experienced it. But… I am here. For what that's worth. You don't - you won't-" 

Draco's breathing was shallow and he could feel emotion prickling his cheeks. The pain in his chest was consuming, mingling with the ghost of his mother's embrace. He missed her with every fiber of his being, and he would give anything to see her once more. His lower lip trembled as he held on to his last scrap of willpower. 

There was nothing he could say to that, and for once Potter wasn't waiting for an answer. 

Draco nodded hard, unable to meet Potter's eyes. It was a heady silence, heavy, but the closest thing to comfort he'd experienced. 

The two of them continued to work in silence, their minds reliving better memories, and for once - Draco didn't feel quite so alone.

* * *

Every time Harry invited Draco (because, yes, now his mind couldn't demean the man and refer to him as just 'Malfoy' anymore) somewhere - be it Hogsmead for a pint, to Diagon Alley on a shopping trip or hell, even just for a walk somewhere away from the school - he always got the same answer. 

_ Sorry, Potter, I'm busy. Maybe next time.  _

It was hard to create a true friendship with the man when he didn't want to go anywhere different. They still met of an evening, and now more out of habit than requirement. More often than not they would talk about themselves, their lives, rather than just schoolwork and students. It was slow going, hard to be truthful, but they were getting something close to a bond. 

Which, a couple of months ago, Harry would have laughed at. Now though, going through the day without seeing the blonde was strange. He didn't really talk about it to Ron and Hermione, mostly because Ron would scowl and Hermione was distracted. He completely understood why, and he would never hold it against them. 

But now he went to Draco for company, for a chat, even for a laugh. 

Part of him wondered why they could never have had this when they were young, but then he would remember all that teenage angst and well - it just wouldn't have happened. It was strange how life could change so suddenly. 

As Harry sat in the plush armchair in the Teachers Lounge, sipping tea and reading a muggle book, he tried again to invite Draco to Hogsmead. 

The blonde frowned, his lips already open to utter his usual response, but Harry cut in first. 

"Why don't you ever want to leave the school?" He blurted, surprising the blonde. Draco gaped for a moment before he cast his eyes down. 

"Is it because it would be with me?" tried Harry gently, knowing that pushing too hard would only clamp the man up more. 

Draco scowled. 

"Don't be ridiculous. If anything, your reputation would be the one that gets damaged."

Harry huffed. "Then why?" 

"Because!" 

Draco immediately snapped his mouth shut, the two of them glancing around at the other professors who were looking at them because of the blonde's outburst. 

"Because," said Draco slowly, this time more levelled. "No one will serve me. No shop will let me in, no cafe or pub or restaurant will serve me. I get followed through the streets by Aurors who think they're undercover, I get glared at and threatened. There is absolutely no point in me leaving this castle because I am not welcome  _ anywhere _ ." 

The silence that followed Draco's words were deafening, and Harry bit the inside of his lip. He could read the hurt in the blonde's eyes, even if it didn't show on his face. 

"Malfoy-" 

"It's fine," he snapped, before he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm used to it. I never expected anything less." 

"It's not fine," countered Harry, swallowing thickly to stop himself from shouting. He wasn't angry at Malfoy, he was angry at the world. The Wizarding World was like one connected hive, so once one thought or opinion was created it spread through the masses. 

"They can't do this to you," said Harry, to which Draco snorted humourlessly. 

"They can and they have. There's no changing it, Potter. It is what it is." 

"Well I don't accept that." 

"Then learn to. Why do you think I wear the exact same clothes, or have the same quill and notebooks? I can't get more." 

Harry ground his teeth, floomping back in his seat. 

"You can't change it," said Draco, defeat evident in every part of his face. "Not even you." 

Harry crossed his arms, determined to sulk while Draco waved his hands and continued with whatever he'd been writing down in his notebook. 

He knew that Malfoy had been a prat, but he'd been cleared. Everything was taken away - wealth and standing and apparently even his clothes. Wasn't that enough? They'd beaten down the proud blonde until he was a husk, and Harry could see that Draco had given up the fight. 

The Saviour had no idea where this urge to defend Draco had come from. Probably something to do with the new friendship they'd created. If Draco's most famous enemy could get past this, why couldn't everyone else? 

Harry sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. 

"I'm not something you can save," said Malfoy quietly, his eyes on the book but knuckles turning white where they held so tight around the leather binding. 

"You don't need saving," said Harry, drawing Draco's attention. "You deserve some fucking human rights." 

Draco huffed out an amused breath, shrugging his shoulders. 

As he studied the man, an idea began to form in his head. Nothing so grand as reintroducing Malfoy to the Wizarding World - no, something much smaller. A gesture of kindness. 

"How long has it been since you left Hogwarts?" asked Harry casually, and Draco lowered his book with an unimpressed scowl. He looked over the Saviour, but Harry kept his face calm and polite. With a scoff, Malfoy turned thoughtful. 

"About… I don't know, a year?" 

"A  _ year _ ?"

"There's nothing I need that I don't have here." 

"Yeah," said Harry, flabbergasted that Malfoy had been hiding away for so long. "But a  _ year _ ?" 

Draco rolled his eyes. "I would rather be comfortable in here where I'm useful than out there where I'm hated." 

"But what about… fun? Living?" 

"I am living."

Harry opened his mouth but clamped down on his tongue at Draco's dark glare. He knew he was getting into argument territory, so he held up his hands in defeat. Draco looked over him for a few moments before he nodded, seemingly accepting Harry's defeat. 

"Saturday." 

Draco sighed heavily. "What?" 

"Saturday. Meet me at the apparition point by the training grounds. And wear something normal." 

The blonde narrowed his eyes. "Potter…" 

"Look just trust me, okay? Call it a leap of faith." 

Harry gave Draco a playful grin, and the potions master continued to study him dubiously. 

Eventually he crumpled, shaking his head even and he waved Harry off in a shooing motion. 

"Fine, fine. Now go away, I've got shit to do." 

Harry knew he was wearing a shit-eating grin, but he couldn't help it. He got to his feet and saluted the blonde, who just rolled his eyes again, before he left Malfoy with his 'shit'.

* * *

_ This is ridiculous. Its fucking cold, my robes are too thin. I just want to be warm in my rooms, not pandering to some nutter who won't even tell me what the hell he's planning. Merlin, if sixteen year old me could see me now. Following Potter into the unknown? Absolute  _ blasphemy.

Draco shifted from foot to foot, his robes wrapped tightly around his shoulders against the freezing wind whipping against him. 

Potter hadn't given him anything all week about what the hell he was planning. He'd just smile and shrug, reminding Draco to dress normal. What was bloody normal, anyway?

Glancing around the darkening clearing, Draco ground his teeth against the cold. 

"Hey!" 

The blonde turned to see Potter jogging towards him, looking peaky and warm in a big blue puffer coat. He was wearing dark jeans and heavy boots, as well as his new glasses.

"Malfoy I told you to dress normal," chided the Saviour, and Draco's lips parted incredulously. 

"I  _ am _ ," he insisted, nodding at his robes. "You're the one in muggle clothing." 

Potter sighed before he held out his hand. 

"Give me your cloak." 

"No, its fucking freezing," quipped the blonde, narrowing his eyes. 

"Malfoy."

Potter was giving him his unimpressed pout, and Draco nearly growled as he slowly undid his cloak. A violent shiver ran down his spine, making him wince. His plain white shirt and black slacks did absolutely nothing to help against the wind, and Draco sent daggers at the Golden Tit as he shook out the cloak.

Potter pulled his wand out from his pocket, muttering something under his breath before Draco's cloak was engulfed in shimmering magic. 

When Potter shook it out again, the cloak had been turned into a black Belstaff coat, which Potter handed back to him. Draco pulled it on without hesitation, doing up the buttons and silently marvelling at the soft tweed. The coat was tight around his middle, while the collar sat neatly on his shoulders. 

He was quite… impressed that Potter had this level of transfiguration skill. 

It immediately protected him from the cold and Draco sighed, before putting his hands in his pockets and looking up at Potter expectantly. 

"So where are we going?" asked Draco, but the Saviour just grinned. He held out his arm and Draco frowned. He didn't know whether to be worried or suspicious but he supposed this was the most interesting thing to have happened to him in years. 

Draco reluctantly grabbed onto Potter's forearm before the man waved his wand. The lurching sensation of his body being morphed made him sick in a sharp breath.

He landed with another gasp, holding onto Potter's arm hard as he got his bearings. 

"It's… an alleyway," said Draco, slowly looking around at the less than impressive space. It even smelled like piss. 

"Don't be a snarky twat," said Potter with a smile, before he stepped away from Draco's hand and started down the alley. The blonde sighed dramatically before he followed, stepping out into an absolute shitstorm of activity. 

People were absolutely everywhere, with lights and massive screens high on buildings. He saw signs for food, for theatre. He could hear music and laughter in the background. 

People were in groups, plodding along while others were on their own, marching with purpose. 

"Where are we?" Asked Draco a little breathlessly, just about stepping out the way of a group of teenagers as they barged past. 

Potter was right beside him, the lights of the night reflecting off his glasses, making his eyes shimmer. 

"Leicester Square," he said, still grinning. Draco frowned before he looked around again. 

"Muggle London?" He turned towards Potter, his lip curled in confusion. "Why?" 

The Saviour chuckled before he gestured for Draco to follow him. They walked through the square, right into the middle where a few random Street performers were playing music or busting out moves. 

"Where else could we go where no one would know us?" He asked, and Draco found himself slowly smiling back. 

"No locked doors here, Malfoy," beamed Potter, looking rather smug. "You're just a nobody." 

Draco shook his head in wonder as he looked at all the people. Damn it all, Potter was right. The most obvious solution to his shadowbanned life. 

"So where do you wanna eat?" Asked Potter as they slowly walked towards the far corner, where a massive array of restaurants lined the square. 

"We've got… Japanese, Thai, Mexican, Indian." Each word was punctuated with Potter pointing at individual restaurants. Draco had never heard of any of them, but he supposed the Saviour would know more about it than he. 

"Oh, there's sushi. Good old McDonald's… tapas?" 

Draco shrugged, because he didn't really care. Although he did find himself wondering towards the Japanese restaurant, and apparently it was a ramen bar too. 

He stopped outside the window, looking over the menu. Noodle dishes, rice dishes, ramen, udon, curry… his stomach did flips at the thought of it all.

"Do you like noodles?" He asked, looking over at Potter. The man just shrugged. 

"Never been to this one, so we'll find out, won't we?" 

And with that, Potter pushed the door open and Draco followed him inside. 

The restaurant was packed, with five long benches right down the middle and each wall lined with booths. The bar was at the far back, right next to a half wall that revealed the open kitchen. 

It was a mixture of so many things at once that Draco felt his heart palpitate. The sizzle of food, the hum of people talking, the odd shout from somewhere at the back. And the smell. Merlin, he could smell so many different dishes all at once.

"Hi, welcome to Wagamama," said a sudden voice, and Draco looked up at a small podium to see a young woman smiling at them. 

She wore a bright red t-shirt with the restaurant logo on it, as well as a name tag that read 'Suzie'. 

"Two?" She asked, picking up two menus as Potter nodded. 

"Okie dokie. We have a bench seat ready now, or you're welcome to wait, uh… five minutes for a booth?" 

Potter looked over at him and Draco just shrugged again.

"We'll wait for a booth, thanks," said the Saviour with a smile, before the two of them stepped aside with their menus to wait. 

Draco poured over the menu, trying to decide what he wanted. There were side dishes as well as mains, freshly squeezed juices and a selection of alcohol. It seemed like a nice, middle-class place, and the prices were fairly decent for London. 

"You okay?" Asked a quiet voice in his ear and Draco looked up. Potter was standing quite close, and it took a lot of effort to stop himself from moving away. 

"Uh, yeah…" he mumbled, before clearing his throat. "Just not used to… so many people." 

It was strangely easy to admit that now. To admit anything that could be considered weakness. It was hard to remember, but this was what his life was like before Voldemort. Friends, who he could be himself with. Little adventures into the unknown. 

Trips to town, good food, company. Strange how he had forgotten about it all so easily. 

They were seated in the far corner a few minutes later, and Draco was glad of the slice of privacy. Not that he wanted to be alone with Potter or anything, he just found he could breathe a bit better when he wasn't out in the open. 

Draco had long since decided what he wanted to eat, but Potter was still pouring over the menu. 

"What's this? Guy… goy…" 

Draco leaned over to see what Potter was referring to, before he snickered. 

"Gyoza. It's a dumpling." 

Potter glanced up. "Have you been here before?" He asked innocently and Draco rolled his eyes. 

"No, you tit," replied Draco teasingly, before he pointed at the small print underneath the Gyoza. "It says what it is here." 

"Oh." Potter chuckled at himself before he adjusted his glasses and brought his menu closer to his face. 

Draco shook his head, glancing around the restaurant as the other decided. It was definitely odd being surrounded by so many people, but there was a different kind of atmosphere than he was used to. A light, cheery atmosphere, filled to the brim with people having a good time. It was… nice. Not that he would admit that, of course. 

Another bubbly waitress came over to them, and they ordered their food and drinks. Potter still looked unsure as he ordered, and Draco smirked at him. He really was an idiot. But… not necessarily a bad one. 

“So what do you reckon to my plan?” asked Potter as their Japanese light beers were set on the table and they both poured their drinks into their glasses. 

Draco couldn't stop another small smirk, sipping at his cold, bubbly beer before sighing happily. 

“Good plan.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

Potter grinned, obviously very proud of himself and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Although it’s got a very date-ish feel about it. Not trying to woo me, are you Potter?”

Draco laughed out loud at the way Potter’s face dropped, before he cottoned-on to the fact that the blonde was teasing. The Saviour let out a nervous chuckle, which made Draco tilt his head curiously. 

They chatted idly about nothing in particular as they waited for their food, before a few smaller dishes arrived. 

Draco took out his wooden chopsticks, breaking them apart before rolling them together and getting rid of the excess wood. He picked up one of the gyoza and dipped it in the dark sauce. As he bit into it, he saw Potter watching him curiously. Draco raised an eyebrow as he chewed. 

“What?”

Potter was holding his own chopsticks, looking rather sheepish. The blonde chuckled as he set the dumpling down. 

“Can you not use chopsticks?”

Potter scowled, making Draco laugh more openly. He held out his hand and Potter passed them over. As the blonde set about getting them ready, Potter waited patiently. 

“Okay, you lean this one against this finger,” instructed Draco. “Then this one sits on top, and you move it with this finger. Like this.”

The blonde snapped the chopsticks together, before he passed them back to Potter. The man was frowning in concentration as he copied what Draco had shown him. It was a clumsy attempt, and Draco had to bite back on his laughter. 

Potter tried to pick up a dumpling, but failed miserably. He tried again, and Draco was explaining it to him as he did so. 

Another failed attempt. 

“Come on, Potter,” said Draco, barely containing his laughter. “All the rumours at school said you were supposed to be good with your fingers.”

Potter spluttered as he dropped the dumpling again, looking up at Draco incredulously. The blonde lost his control, laughing openly behind his hand. Potter gaped like a fish, his cheeks flushing, which only made Draco laugh harder. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” gasped the Saviour, looking more than a little flushed. 

Draco snickered, picking up his dumpling again and chewing on it, leaving Potter to his own conclusion.

* * *

Harry let out a bark of laughter, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he tried to stop himself spitting food all over the table. Malfoy was chuckling as he spoke, describing in great detail about one of Blaise Zabini’s exploits in Sixth Year. 

“How did he even get into the girls’ dorms?” asked Harry as he swallowed around a mouthful of rice. 

Malfoy shook his head, sipping his second beer. 

“No idea. I think he figured out what charm was on the doors, and managed to bypass it somehow.”

Draco rolled his eyes and continued with his massive bowl of ramen, scooping up the food effortlessly with the chopsticks. Harry had given up, asking for a fork, and was happy to do so despite Malfoy’s teasing. 

Harry took a gulp of his beer, savouring the bitter taste. 

“I do miss being able to mess around though,” said Harry, his eyes on his food as he scooped up another mouthful. 

“What do you mean?”

Harry shrugged. “You know. Flirting with girls and having a laugh without everyone breathing down your neck about marriage.”

Draco snickered. “Don’t have that problem.”

“Yeah, well - bully for you.”

The blonde glanced up with a smirk as he chewed, to which Harry shook his head teasingly. 

“Why don’t you try one of those matchmaking things?” asked that blonde after a few moments, and Harry groaned at the thought. 

“Oh yeah - ‘Harry Potter up for Auction’.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. 

“At least you’ll fetch a pretty price.”

Harry rolled his eyes, stabbing at his rice. “Nah. I’d rather be single.”

“Yeah…” Draco finished his beer before he sat back heavily, sighing. They must have eaten their bodyweight in ramen and rice, but it was a good kind of full. 

“Must be quite hard finding a date stuck in the castle,” said Harry casually, his attempt at subtlety falling flat.

“You don’t say.”

Harry smirked, pointing his fork at the blonde. “You should try the matchmaking thing.”

“Ah, yes, because every available wizard will be  _ dying _ for the chance to get a date with Draco Malfoy,” said the blonde sarcastically, and Harry smirked. 

Although, as his brain caught up, Harry glanced at the other with a raised eyebrow. 

“Wizard?”

Malfoy gave him a side-glace, the two of them watching each other steadily.

“...yes?”

“As in…”

“As in a male wizard, yes.”

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ”

Harry looked down at his food, trying to hide his surprise. Malfoy was… 

“Wait, you didn’t know?”

The Saviour snapped his eyes back up as Draco watched him with open surprise. Harry opened his mouth, snapping it closed again as he fumbled for words. 

“Well… no, no not really.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence that settled over them was heavy, tense, as Harry tried to absorb the new information and Draco tapping his fingers nervously against the table. They both looked up at the same time, their mouths open, before they closed them again and looked down. 

“Is - is that a problem?” asked Draco slowly, and Harry heard the slight edge to his tone. 

“What? No, no course it isn’t!”

“It looks like it is.”

“No, honestly it’s not. I’m just surprised that’s all.”

Draco pursed his lips, looking less than convinced. Harry felt his heart drop as he realised that Malfoy would think him a homophobe or something. He scrambled to explain. 

“Seriously, I’ve got no problem that you’re gay, Malfoy. Really.”

Those silver eyes were burning as they roamed over Harry’s face, and the Saviour tried to keep his expression open and honest. But his hesitation had cast doubt over Malfoy, and his whole demeanor seemed to have changed. He looked tense and uncomfortable, and Harry wanted to kick himself. He bit down on his lower lip, wracking his brain for a way to prove to the other that he really couldn't care less that he liked men. That he was honestly just surprised. 

They sat in awkward silence as the waitress reappeared, clearing the table and setting down the dessert menu. Draco wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead picking up the menu and flicking his bright eyes over it. 

Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. 

It felt like one step forward, seven steps back with the two of them. As Harry debated whether or not he could trust Malfoy enough, the blonde set the menu aside and studied the hands in his lap. 

“You know,” said Harry slowly, drawing Malfoy’s attention. “After the war,” he said, picking at the corner of his paper dinner mat. “When it was all done, and the trials and everything were over… everyone was expecting me and Ginny to get married. They had the triumphant hero, the rebuilding after a great war - so then they wanted the Happy Ever After.”

Harry swirled his tongue around his mouth, keeping his eyes down even though he could feel Draco watching him. 

“It’s unbelievable - the pressure that can be put on you. I was only eighteen, gone through hell and back again, and they wanted me to play the Prince Charming and marry the Princess. I fought it at first, because I thought, you know, fuck it I deserve some freedom. Ron and Hermione took that one off me for a little bit, and they got married at nineteen. Way too young, but it shut the crowd up for a while.” Harry chewed the inside of his lip, his heart hammering hard against his chest. 

“I’d never been able to just be normal, because - you know. But I just wanted to experience it. I knew that I’d have to marry Ginny, and then go into the Aurors and keep being this hero for the rest of my life. So when I was nineteen, the wedding was a year away. And I kind of… ran away.”

Harry glanced up to see Draco watching him intensely, those eyes burning a hole into his face. 

“Ran away?” prompted the blonde, clearly interested in the story despite his better judgement. Harry smirked bitterly. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I told Ginny about it, that I just needed some freedom. I came to Muggle London, got a shitty little flat in Soho. And, well, I kinda went a bit crazy.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and Harry shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

"Define 'crazy'."

Harry blew a breath through his lips. 

"I changed up loads of galleons into pounds and just… went out. Every night, for days on end. Drinking and smoking and- uh… having sex." 

Draco raised a slender eyebrow, clearly wondering where this was going and Harry licked his lower lip. It just sounded like he was boasting, so he took a deep breath and got to the point. 

"Lots of sex. With… everyone." 

Draco's brows were drawn together, and Harry's eyes were pleading at the other to understand - but the penny hadn't dropped. 

" _ Every _ one." 

The blonde blinked, once, twice, and his eyes went wide. 

"Oh.  _ Oh. _ " 

Harry glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck as the potions master finally caught up. 

"So, you see. It, ah, would be kind of hypocritical of me to judge you." 

To say Draco looked surprised didn't quite fit the expression on the blonde's face, and Harry looked everywhere but him. 

"Right," said Malfoy after a moment, and Harry pursed his lips expectantly. 

"So… I take it that's not public knowledge." 

Harry let out a small, nervous giggle. 

"No. No one actually knows what I was up to. They thought I just wanted to get away from it all for a bit. I showed up every couple of weeks so the media could snap a picture of me and Ginny, but then I'd go straight back." 

"Huh." 

Harry picked up his dessert menu and studied it intently, trying not to think about the ammunition he'd just handed to Malfoy. It could pretty much destroy his reputation if the blonde got the word out there, so it was definitely an act of trust to tell him. He could see that Draco realised that at the same time, and he looked a bit lost as to what to do with it.

"So… what would you say you were?" asked Draco quietly, and Harry turned thoughtful. 

"I don't know. I like people for who they are, not what they've got in their pants." 

Draco let out a very unsophisticated snort and Harry couldn't stop a shy grin. 

"It's how they use it," he added, and Draco, for the first time since they'd become friends - completely lost his shit.


	11. Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry again for the delay but the lock down has eased somewhat here in the UK now and I live on the coast SO its been busy and I've been working lots! Gonna try and keep updating as much as I can! Much love as always, and please leave comments!

Draco shivered as he stepped out into the evening, wrapping his coat more firmly around his body. He wished he'd had the foresight to wear a jumper, but the beer had flushed his cheeks enough to keep him comfortable. 

Potter stepped up next to him and gave him a small smile, which he returned. 

"That was really nice," said Draco, turning to look at the brimming crowd. There seemed to be more people now, and he swore he could see lots of bright colours. 

"I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you, Harry. You're a wonderful man and I'm forever in your debt'." 

Draco clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes, but he did give in to Potter's dramatics by giving the man a gracious bow. 

"Thank you, Harry." 

Potter beamed at him before his face turned thoughtful and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"What?" 

"Nothing, it's just… that's the first time you've called me Harry." 

Draco pursed his lips. "Huh. So it is. That a problem?" 

"No." 

“Okay then.”

They stood together in a semi-awkward silence, Draco wondering what was supposed to happen now. He’d thanked Potter, and he had truly meant it. The meal had really lifted his spirits, and it was quite a novelty to be in the Saiour’s good graces. It was somewhere he’d never been, never wanted to be, but Draco could see the desire to remain there. 

How strange, that he would watch from afar as Harry went off on adventures with his friends, and how jealous he had always been. There was never such sincerity to be found in Slytherin house, and yet it ozed freely from Potter for all to lap at. He was starting to believe why everyone loved him so much, considering he was funny, kind, and - alright - a little charming. More so than he used to be, considering age brought about it’s own kind of confidence. 

“Potter-”

“Malfoy-”

The two of them snapped their mouths shut, their eyes meeting under the faint light of the restaurant they’d exited. The cold whipped at their faces, scratching at their cheeks and flushing them. Or was it the beer? Whatever it was, it seemed to make Potter’s eyes even brighter under his glasses. 

Potter smiled unabashadly and Draco smacked his lips together, unsure as to what he was about to say but knowing words were necessary. 

“Draco.”

The blonde snapped his eyes back up, and he saw something like hesitation on Potter’s face. His brows were drawn slightly, and the word seemed unfamiliar on his tongue judging by the way his jaw moved. Draco had a brief thought about what his tongue was doing in there, and what it was capable of, but he shut it down as quickly as it came. 

“Harry,” said Draco slowly, before biting the inside of his lip. Potter smiled brightly, and Draco could see the echo of his youth before it was erased by the sharp definity of adulthood. 

“Fancy a drink?” asked Potter -  _ Harry _ \- and Draco’s eyebrows rose despite himself. 

“A drink?”

Harry snickered. “Liquid, generally. May or may not contain alcohol.”

Draco pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, fighting the strangest urge to shove Harry by the shoulder for being a prat. They probably weren’t at that stage yet, if ever. 

“Uh, yeah, alright then.”

Why had his heart jumped to his throat? Why could he hear the rushing of blood in his ears? It was bizarre, and quite frankly, pretty bloody pathetic. He  _ was _ glad of the cold, though, because he was pretty sure his cheeks were flushing. 

Harry gestured with one arm and Draco turned, heading in that general direction. Harry fell easily into step next to him, despite his shorter legs, and Draco smirked to himself. 

“So where should we go?” asked Harry, tucking his hands into his pockets as he glanced around the absolutely rammed Leicester Square. Draco gave Harry a sarcastic look. 

“Do I look like I frequent Muggle London?”

“Alright, snarky git,” he said, but was quick to add a teasing grin. Draco smiled faintly in return, glad that they were able to banter now without one of them taking offence and throwing hexes. 

They moved to go around the edge of the crowd, but it seemed to be getting louder and more rowdy. 

“Boys! Coo-ee, boys!”

Harry and Draco turned in tandem to face the man heading towards them. The blonde’s eyes went wide and Harry noticed, nudging Draco’s shoulder. He didn’t know whether it was a teasing gesture or a warning to be nice, but either way it made Draco glance down. 

The man heading towards them was… bright. He wore a shockingly red sequined shirt, the buttons open nearly to his belly-button and revealing smooth, caramel skin. The shirt was tucked into a pair of leather trousers so tight that they made Draco wince just looking at them. 

“Hello my beautiful darlings!” gushed the stranger, his voice thickly accented. Italian, maybe? Spanish? 

Harry smiled politely and Draco mimicked him, but he couldn't help wondering what the man wanted and why he was wearing so much make-up. It was beautifully done, Draco gave him that, but it was so  _ bright _ . Red lips and gold eyes, huge lashes and slap-pink cheeks. It was hard to see the features underneath, but Draco guessed he was in his early thirties. 

“Hullo,” said Harry as the man stopped in front of them, clapping his hands together and resting them against his cheek.

“Oh look at you two lovebirds,” he cooed, and Draco felt himself stand straighter. “You are just adorable!”

“We’re not-”

“Oh hush,” said the man, tapping Harry’s chest and giving him a knowing smirk. Draco shifted from foot to foot, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and a little lost. He’d never seen someone so… flamboyant, just walking around in the open. Not that he disagreed with it - to each their own - but the Pureblood Wizarding Families were very… strict. Archaic in their beliefs and positively aristocratic in their behaviour. 

Lost in his head, Draco only looked up because he heard his name. 

“Hm? What?”

Harry was watching him steadily, something unspoken in his eyes. Draco frowned, but the stranger was talking again. 

“I said, dear thing, that we’re going to Soho to celebrate Pride - and picking up gorgeous stragglers on the way.” Draco’s lips parted as the man gave him a wink, and he finally looked at the crowd. Really  _ looked _ . 

About thirty men and women, in different states of dress, milling about excitedly and laughing with each other. Some were covered in glitter, some were wearing rainbow t-shirts and waving flags. Some had glowsticks and other’s looked like they were just happy to be there. 

“What you reckon, Draco?” asked Harry, turning slightly so that the stranger couldn't see his face. 

Draco could see a mix of things there, though. A bit of excitement, boyish wonder, but the steady undertone of something else. Understanding? Acceptance? It made Draco’s head hurt, but a small huff of frustration made him look again. 

And he got it. 

Harry was giving him the choice. To go with the colourful crowd, or to decline. It made Draco frown, because it curled his stomach in a weird way. Licking his lower lip, Draco offered the man a small smile. 

“Why not?” he said, and the stranger squealed before clapping his hands together rapidly. “It’ll be an adventure,” he added as they turned and headed towards the crowd. Harry snorted, looking up at him with a bemused smile. 

“I didn’t take you for an adventurer,” said the Saviour, his smirk almost challenging. 

“You never asked,” replied Draco, chuckling as he saw Harry’s lips part in surprise.

* * *

The crowd storming Soho seemed to be one entity, ebbing and flowing like a proud, joyous wave. They sucked in new people and pushed out any negativity that wormed its way in. Any insults thrown their way were quickly drowned in the colourful waters, but not with retaliation. With love. 

It was intoxicating, being within the tide. It washed over him, making him laugh and dance and raise his arms with a cheer.

Somehow, drinks were put in their hands despite the fact they were walking through the street. No one seemed to stop them, but Harry made sure to keep the bottle of beer by his side and out of sight. 

He knew the muggle laws on open bottles in public, and the last thing they needed was to be approached by the police. Not like they would get far. The crowd had grown, at least fifty people strong, and the two of them were right in the middle. 

Draco was just off to his left, looking a little uncertain as a young, very handsome gay couple spoke to him animatedly. The couple were wearing matching rainbow t-shirts with ‘One Love’ blazing across the front. As Harry watched Draco, the blonde glanced up like he’d sensed him, before giving him a pointed, wide-eyed look. Harry smirked, half tempted to leave him there, but also taking pity on him. He headed towards the blonde, easily slipping an arm around his shoulder. 

“Hello, love,” said Harry loudly, and Draco narrowed his eyes. “Where’ve you been?” continued Harry, inwardly enjoying the hell out of this. He tugged Draco away with a nod at the couple, moving them further to the outside of the crowd before Draco shrugged him off. 

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” sniffed the blonde and Harry grinned as he shrugged. 

“Course,” he admitted, laughing as Draco glared at him again. 

They followed the crowd into some kind of bar, glad that no one had asked them for ID. He hadn’t planned anything more than taking Draco to dinner, so he was winging it and hadn’t prepared any papers for them. 

The bar was absolutely buzzing with people, and once the crowd got inside, it was totally packed. Harry managed to squeeze himself against the bar, looking over at Draco. Harry tipped his hand by his face, gesturing at him if he wanted a drink. The blonde nodded and Harry ordered them the first thing that came to his head - vodka and coke. 

He forced his way back through the throng of people, managing to keep their drinks intact before he handed one to Draco. 

“So, unexpected huh?” he shouted, trying to be heard over the music. Draco frowned, before he leaned in closer. Harry swallowed thickly, leaning forward to the blonde’s ear. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, feeling Draco tense against his shoulder. “We can go if you want.”

Harry remembered what the blonde had said about so many people back in the restaurant, and the last thing he wanted was Draco to be uncomfortable. This was supposed to be fun, an adventure, not pushing the man into things he didn’t like. Draco turned his head, moving his own mouth closer to Harry’s ear.

“It is a bit busy,” he said, and Harry shivered as warm breath tickled over his lobe. He covered the move by turning, hoping that Draco hadn’t noticed. 

“Let’s finish this then, and we’ll find somewhere quieter. Or we could go back home?” he added, secretly hoping that he didn’t want to. 

Draco pulled back, giving Harry a small smile before nodding. It didn’t quite answer the question, but the blonde was already downing his drink. Harry was quick to follow, wincing as the vodka burned a trail down his throat. He coughed into his hand, and Draco’s chuckle seemed to carry across the din of the bar. 

The two of them pushed their way back outside, into a small gathering of about five people. They looked like they’d just escaped as well. 

Harry vaguely recognised two of the women from the bigger crowd, and he smiled at them. 

“It’s a bit wild in there,” one of them called, drawing the wizards’ attention. Harry chuckled as Draco nodded, and the women made their way over. 

One of them was incredibly tall and slender, with half of her hair shaved. She had tattoos down her bare arms and a few piercings, but her smile was welcoming and kind. The other woman was shorter than Harry, with her dark hair straightover her shoulders. She had a few piercings as well, but no tattoos that Harry could see. 

“I’m Max,” said the taller woman, holding out a hand. Harry shook it. 

“I’m Harry,” he said, just as the shorter woman bounced forward. 

“Hi Harry!” she peeped, her voice adorably squeaky. “I’m Josie. I’m Max’s wife.”

Harry’s eyes widened a little, because the women looked so  _ young _ . But sure enough, they wore matching rings on their fingers and when they looked at each other, Harry could see the affection clear as day on their faces. 

“Is this your boyfriend?” asked Josie, looking behind Harry’s shoulder. Harry let out a bark of laughter at the way Draco blanched. 

“No,” he said quickly, knowing the blonde would throttle him if he took the piss too much. “No, he’s a friend.”

Josie didn’t seem convinced, but she shook Draco’s hand and smiled so brightly that it drew a smaller one from the blonde. 

“We’re heading over to the bar, just over there,” said Max, pointing behind her with her thumb. “It’s Josie’s birthday.”

“Oh, happy birthday,” said Harry and Josie scrunched up her face happily. 

“Thank you!” she squeaked. “Come and have a drink with us!”

And that was how Harry and Draco found themselves sitting at the back of a rustic, comfortable bar, laughing and chatting with the small group. As well as Max and Josie, there was Garett and Shaun (married), and a young, shy redhead called Ryan. Although his hair wasn’t shocking orange like the Weasleys’ - his was a soft red, a strawberry pink. He had massive green eyes as well, and they only seemed to get bigger the more confidence he got. 

Harry snickered into his pint as Garrett relayed the story of his meeting with Shaun, and how he’d been a waiter at the time. He’d ended up spilling a tray of drinks right on Shaun’s lap, and apparently it was love at first spill. 

“How did you two meet?” asked Shaun, gesturing with a hand at Draco and Harry. The Saviour snorted as he drank, looking over at Draco and raising an eyebrow. The blonde sighed heavily, before forcing a smile. 

“We met at school, actually.”

“Aw, young love,” cooed Garrett and Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Draco kicked his shin under the table and Harry yelped, but tried to hide it with a cough. 

“We’re not together,” tried Draco again. Shaun looked dubious and Garrett just rolled his eyes. It was curious, though, why everyone seemed to think they were a couple. It wasn’t as though they were affectionate, or anything of the sort. 

“So were you best friends, then?” asked Max, and Harry saw that the whole table were watching the blonde. Draco turned to Harry, a smile dancing in his eyes. Harry grinned before the two of them shared a knowing laugh. 

“No,” said Draco. “Although only because Harry rebuffed by attempts at friendship.”

“Uh, no,” cut in the Saviour, making Draco frown. “You were an arrogant little shit.”

Draco put his hand to his heart and gasped mockingly. 

“You wound me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bloody will in a minute.”

Harry took another long pull of his drink, his brows drawing together when he saw their new friends watching the two of them, smiling softly. 

Harry cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward, but Max and Josie were quick to change the subject. 

A half hour later and Max was putting down a tray of brightly coloured shots on the table. Harry swallowed thickly, looking over at Draco. They shared an uneasy look, but didn’t have much of a chance to decline. 

Harry sniffed his drink and winced at the acrid, apple smell. Draco looked just as dubious, but they raised their shots with the others. 

“To an awesome night!” cheered Garrett, which the others copied. Harry smiled as he caught Draco’s eye. 

“To one more drink,” he said quietly, gaining a small chuckle from Draco.

* * *

His eyes opened before his mind had fully woken up, and it felt as though his eyeballs had been stabbed with razors. He groaned loudly, squeezing them shut as his mind caught up with his body. 

Everything felt heavy - too heavy. His mouth was like sandpaper, and tasted like bile. His stomach was churning miserably, and a marching band started up inside his head. 

All-in-all, Harry felt like shit. 

He moaned again in self-pity, cracking open an eye only to be partially blinded once again by the sunlight. 

He grabbed at whatever blanket was around his legs, before he turned himself around. It was only when he had his back to the sun that he realised the warmth radiating from his skin… wasn’t his own. 

Harry froze, every sense on edge as he tried to take stock of the situation. There was someone pressed right up against him, warm and breathing softly. His movement had stirred the person, and they groaned in pain. 

They reacted just as Harry had - first, pain. Then shock. And then the realisation that they weren’t alone. And they were pressed very firmly together.

Harry bit his lower lip before he steeled himself, and opened his eyes. 

“Potter.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he saw a very rumpled, very pale face in line with his own. 

They stared at each other for long, dumbfounded moments, until Draco’s eyes fluttered and he took a sharp breath. 

“Potter,” he repeated, his eyes still closed. 

“Mm?”

“Are you naked?”

Harry’s heart was in his throat, making the headache pound even harder, but that was a very good question. The Saviour rocked his hips a little against the fabric of whatever he was lying on, and a rush of heat exploded over his face as the question was answered. 

“Yep.”

“Am  _ I _ naked?” Draco still had his eyes closed. 

Harry gently lifted the blanket, catching a glimpse of milky white thighs, before he slammed his hand back down and snapped his head back up. 

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.” 

“Did we…?”

“No idea,” said Harry, reaching up to rub his eyes, in both frustration and embarrassment. 

“Can you remember anything?” asked Draco, his voice taking on a slight hysterical edge. 

Harry closed his eyes and wracked his brain.

“The bar… shots -  _ way _ too many shots - uh… dancing? Did we go dancing?”

Draco blew out a hard breath through his lips and Harry realised that they were still lying incredibly close. He sat himself up, far too quickly, and his head started to swim. His stomach clenched, as though it was about to revolt, and he groaned as he fell back down. 

“I’m dying,” he whimpered, throwing his arm over his face as he battled the nausea and the tremours running through his muscles. 

Draco didn’t speak, and after a moment, Harry turned his head to make sure he was still conscious. The blonde had his eyes closed, but his breathing was shaky and deep. Was he battling his own nausea? Or was he trying to fight the embarrassment? 

“Move!” 

Harry flung himself side-ways in a rush of blankets and limbs, as Draco practically jumped over him. It forced the Saviour to look around, realising they were in some kind of flat. Draco seemed to be moving on instinct, and he somehow managed to find a sink. Harry grimaced as he heard the godawful retching and heaving as the potions master emptied his stomach. 

Nausea then. 

Harry pulled the blankets around his middle, pushing away any thoughts of what could have happened between them, and instead focusing on the flat. 

He was leaning against a small red sofa, and a coffee table had been pushed aside by his body. It was littered with empty bottles and glasses, as well as remnants of some kind of takeaway. Harry’s lip curled in disgust as he got a whiff of grease and mayonaise, instead turning his head. 

The living room was tiny, with a little telly in the corner and a bookshelf against the same wall. To the right was a little window, the source of the intruding daylight. The left opened up into a little kitchen, where Draco was leaning over the sink. 

Harry made some kind of squeak at the back of his throat as he got a glimpse of pale arse, before he dutifully cast his eyes away. 

There was what looked like a small hallway to the left of the open kitchen, and a door just next to the hall. Bathroom, maybe?

He didn’t recognise it at all, and the decor was a mis-matched and clashing, but somehow cozy. It kind of reminded him of the Burrow. 

There was a loud groan and a gasp, but the retching had stopped. Harry looked at Draco, keeping his eyes  _ up _ , as the blonde turned on the water. He looked like he was splashing his face before he rinsed out the sink, and then braced himself against it. His back was arched as he caught his breath, and Harry’s eyes looked before he could stop himself. Draco’s skin was so pale it was almost transluscent. He was wiry and skinny, but the edges of the muscles around his spine stood out as he flexed. But Harry was focusing on the stark silver lines criss-crossing over the pale expanse of skin. 

Two identical ones starting from his right shoulder and going all the way across to his left side, and another, deeper one ran right across his lower back. 

Where had he gotten scars like that?

Something niggled the back of his mind, but he was too sluggish and hungover to really focus on it. 

“Potter,” croaked the blonde and Harry glanced up when he saw Draco’s head half-turned towards him. “Towel? Blanket? Anything?”

“Oh, shit, right.”

Harry looked around the floor, his cheeks prickling as he saw discarded clothing, before he grabbed at what looked like another little throw. He launched it in Draco’s general direction before he shakily got to his feet. 

His world threatened to turn upside down, but Harry braced himself on the sofa until he was steady enough to stand straight again. 

“So…”

Harry swallowed thickly and glanced up, watching as Draco padded uneasily into the lounge. His lower half was wrapped in the throw and they stood there for an awkward moment, just avoiding each others eyes. 

“Do you remember anything?” asked Harry, clearing his throat and slowly reaching down to pick up his clothes. 

“Uh…”

Draco seemed glad of the distraction, running his hand through his hair. Harry’s eyes caught the movement, and he froze.

“What?” demanded the blonde, touching his face. “Oh fuck I don’t have a piercing or something, do I?”

Harry clamped down on his jaw to stop himself from laughing, but he was failing miderably. Draco narrowed his eyes. 

“ _ What _ ?”

The Saviour slowly pointed at Draco’s hair. It was… pink. Or, more accurately, there was a neon pink strip running through it. 

Draco touched his hair, still frowning, before he turned and sought out the bathroom. 

Harry snickered as he heard a muffle ‘fuck sake!’, before the Saviour busied himself with shucking on his boxers and jeans. He was tugging on his t-shirt as Draco stomped back into the lounge, his face like thunder. 

Harry bit his lips together, paying the man no mind as he pulled on his socks and his boots. 

“Where’s my clothes?” whispered Draco, reaching down and shifting through the few discarded pieces left. Harry tilted his head curiously, because he realised that the remnants weren’t what Malfoy had been wearing the night before. 

Instead there was a pair of black leather trousers, and a… bright red sequined shirt. 

Draco lifted his head, gaping, and Harry couldn't stop the rising tide. He laughed out loud, covering his face as the blonde launched the sequined shirt at him. Harry laughed so hard that it made his stomach threaten to expel itself again, and his head pound so hard that it felt like his eyeballs would explode. 

But fuck, it was  _ so _ funny. 

Draco had been grumbling and throwing a hissy fit, but Harry’s laughter was apparently infectious, and soon the blonde was laughing and wincing in tandem with Harry. 

They stood there, like lunatics, laughing and grimacing at the same time. 

By the time they’d calmed down, there was a thud from somewhere in the flat, and a very rumpled, sleepy little woman pottered into the room. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and her hair was like a bird’s nest. 

But Harry returned her smile as he realised that Josie and Max must have taken them to their home. 

“Morning,” she chirped, far too happy for the state the two of them were in. She didn’t seem to mind that they were there at all, instead heading right for the kettle and filling it up at the sink. 

“Sleep well?” she asked, her tone laced with laughter.

Both Harry and Draco looked at the floor, their cheeks flushing an impressive scarlet. Josie chuckled as she set four mugs on the counter. 

“Tea?”

Harry nodded desperately, before he hissed and cradled his head. 

Draco had gathered up the clothes and was sneaking as fast as he could towards the bathroom, and closed the door with a hard click. 

“Do you remember anything?” asked Josie, turning to rest her back against the counter as she watched him, her eyes brimming with amusement. 

Harry pouted, perching himself on the sofa. 

“Not really.”

Josie snickered. “That doesn’t surprise me - you two were absolutely fucked.”

Harry sighed, deciding to hell with it and slumping back on the sofa. The cushions melted around him and he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Don’t tell me,” he groaned. “I’d rather not know.”

Josie smiled brightly before she continued making tea. Draco came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and Harry’s eyes went wide as he saw the man in the clothes. He sent Harry a black glare, filled with the promise of death should he say absolutely  _ anything _ . 

He joined Harry on the sofa, shifting his hips, obviously uncomfortable in the leather trousers. A laugh bubbled in the back of his throat, but Draco focused those quicksilver eyes on him and Harry bit the inside of his lip. 

“Harry,” said Draco after a moment, glancing over to Josie who was humming happily to herself. “I can’t find my wand.”

Harry frowned, sitting up before he patted himself down. He couldn’t feel anything in his pockets, and he tried the coat hanging off the coffee table. Nothing. Harry looked around the floor as Draco pulled up the sofa cushions. 

“Everything alright?” called Josie, perching on her tip-toes as she watched the two of them searching. 

“Yeah,” said Harry distractedly. “Lost my… wallet.”

Harry couldn't see his wand anywhere either, and the two teachers shared a worried look. 

“It’s on the coffee table,” she called, gesturing to the table as she opened the fridge. Harry smiled tightly at her, swiping his wallet before sitting back on the sofa. 

“What are we going to do?” whispered Draco furiously. 

“No idea,” replied Harry, biting his lower lip. 

“Sugar?” called Josie, and Harry shared another uneasy look with Draco before turning to the petitie woman, his smile faint. 


	12. Almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I'm so sorry it's taking me so long to update - shit's just been crazy. This is a filler chapter I'm afraid BUT I'm hoping the next chapter makes up for it XP I'm super excited for the next chapter, it's a scene I've had in my head since I got the idea for this story in 2018.   
> So, for now, I apologise and will hopefully be updating soon! Much love, leave comments!

It seemed as though the light was getting brighter with every step he took, with the looming muggle buildings doing nothing to ease the pain in his eyes. He kept his head down as they walked, too frazzled and nauseous to really care where they were going. Draco could feel the steady pulsing of a familiar pain down his spine, and he tried for the hundredth time to remember what had happened the night before. 

Everything was in bits and pieces. 

A flash of light here, the brush of a hand there. The feel of alcohol burning down his throat, the way his lungs burned as he shook his body to some unknown beat. He felt like he could say that he’d had a good time, but just couldn't remember  _ how _ . 

The potions master took great lengths not to look at the man walking steadily by his side. Potter was just a step ahead, leading the way through the crowded London streets. 

Draco’s eyes looked down the curve of Potter’s neck, the way his scruffy black hair curled behind his ear. Had he kissed there? Had they touched? 

_ Why can’t I remember? _ he thought furiously. 

It was eating away at him - memories hovering just out of his reach, shut away and drowned out by drink. The blonde rubbed his eyes as they turned a corner and entered a building. The noise intensified, and Draco instinctively took a step closer to Potter. His pride hated him for it, but he was vulnerable here. 

No wand. No familiarity. No energy or willpower to defend himself. 

He couldn't help but remember how they had been in their youth. He would have sooner died than rely on Harry Potter for anything. Even now, it made him uneasy, but… 

_ He’s changed. I’ve changed. We’re adults now. _

Draco held onto the side of the Underground cart that Potter guided them on, groaning quietly as the carriage rocked back and forth violently. He turned his head, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to fight the urge to chuck-up the cup of tea Josie had graciously made them. 

The painkillers she’d given him hadn’t done much but dull the ache in his head to a manageable throb, but it didn’t even touch the pain in his spine. 

He knew he’d pushed it last night, and Merlin only knew what else he’d done. His cheeks prickled with heat and Draco covered his face with his palm. 

A steady, warm hand was suddenly pressing against the curve of his spine and he splayed his fingers enough to see Potter by his side. The man was looking around the carriage, on high alert despite his own hangover, and clearly agitated without his wand. The hand on his back seemed like it was instinctual - that comfort was a part of everyday life for him. How odd, that someone could offer that small gesture without a second thought.

The blonde didn’t have the energy to resist the hand, so he allowed it to sit there. It was a heavy reassurance, and made his stomach roll uneasily. 

The carriage eventually came to a stop, and Potter led him through the station and back into the busy London streets with that same hand. Draco followed, down roads, around corners, and then into a taxi. 

The blonde pulled up the edges of the puffer coat that Potter had insisted he wear and burrowed his head into it, effectively shutting his eyes off from the blur of the city as they sped through it. 

Potter hadn’t really spoken to him on the journey, and Draco wasn’t sure whether it was out of embarrassment or sympathy. 

It only made his head pound harder, and he pushed all thoughts away. He concentrated on thinking about absolutely nothing, listening to the sound of his own heavy breathing. It lulled him into a semi-conscious state, and he was jerked awake by a gentle pat on the shoulder about forty-five minutes later. 

The power nap had helped clear a little of the fuzz in his brain, but he still looked around confused as they stepped out of the taxi and into a perfect little neighbourhood. 

The houses were lining each side of the road, all manicured front lawns and picket white fences. He rolled his eyes as he actually saw a picket white fence. The muggle idea of perfect domestic life always astounded him - because nothing was perfect and everything outward was a facade. His own experience was, anyway. 

Draco pulled the coat closer around his body, feeling quite out of place in this bubble of lies. 

"Uh, this way I think," said Potter distractedly, before turning on his heel and setting off down the road. Draco frowned but followed in silence. Where had the Golden Idiot brought them now? 

Draco winced at his own thoughts. Somehow the insult felt… wrong, in his mind. As though his perception of the man had changed, and his old notions of the man didn't sit right. 

It was a bizarre feeling, being wrong inside your own head. But then again, it undoubtedly was just the drink. That was what he was putting it down to, because anything else required the brainpower he just didn't have the energy to wield right now. 

"Do you actually know where you're going?" asked Draco after another ten minutes of walking past eerily similar houses. 

Potter turned to him, one eyebrow realised but a small smirk playing on his lips. It seemed Potter's own perception had changed, considering he hadn't taken offense to Draco's sarcastic tone. 

"I've only been through the front once," he explained, falling back into step with the blonde and rubbing behind his glasses. 

Potter was steadily looking worse - paler, darker circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted, but calm.

Draco sighed heavily but he continued to follow Potter until they stopped outside of another perfect looking house. 

Although the closer he looked at it, the more he noticed that things weren't what they initially appeared. The windows had a slight sheen to them, like a layer of grease. A ward of some kind. 

The front door couldn't quite seem to settle on what shade of green it wanted, changing ever so slightly in some kind of rhythm. 

The gnomes on the front lawn shook a little, like they were trying their hardest to stand still. 

A magical home, trying to fit into the stoic muggle world. 

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully, wondering who would be living amongst the muggles. 

But as Potter knocked on the door, a flash of red hair sprang into view before setting Draco with an impressive scowl - he had his answer.

* * *

Harry bit the inside of his lip as his hands tightened around his mug, glancing over at the ticking clock on the mantle. It was the only sound in the room, but the silence was filled with a tension that he could practically taste. 

He looked over at Draco, perched on the edge of an armchair with his head lowered. It was a submissive gesture, one that Ron wasn't particularly impressed with judging by the scowl on his best mates face. 

Hermione was sitting on the sofa with Harry, and her husband was looming over her protectively. 

"So," she said suddenly, making everyone jump. 

Draco glanced up, his face a mask of neutrality even though Harry could see the nervousness in his blazing silver eyes. 

"How have you been, Draco?" Asked Hermione sweetly, clearly trying her hardest to be polite even while Ron oozed contempt behind her. 

"Good, thank you Granger," said Draco, and Harry saw Ron bristle. The blonde hadn't said anything sarcastically, but it seemed like his mere presence was putting Ron on edge. 

"Oh you can just call me Hermione," she said, giving him a nervous smile. Draco returned it faintly and tilted his head appreciatively. 

"Okay. Congratulations on the baby," added the blonde, and Harry had to fight the urge to move next to him. To offer a supportive hand or  _ something _ . Something that made him know he wasn't so alone in this situation. It was baffling. 

Harry sipped his tea and glanced up, noticing that Ron's brown eyes were digging holes into the side of the Saviour's head. Harry frowned slightly, and Ron only narrowed his eyes. 

The message was clear.  _ Get him out of my house. _

Harry took a long breath, turning back to Hermione and Draco. Rose was sleeping in a little bassinet by the arm of the sofa, and Ron took a small step closer. It sent a flash of annoyance through him. What did Ron think? That Draco was going to hurt the baby? 

He might have been a bastard before, but the blonde wouldn't hurt a fucking child. 

"Thanks," said Hermione with a proud smile, before she reached over to the bassinet and gently pulled the blanket away from the baby's face. 

"Hermione," said Harry after a moment, and she turned to regard him with a polite smile. 

"We've lost our wands," he said bluntly, to which Ron scoffed. Harry set his friend with a hard look before he turned back to the witch. "We could really use your help finding them." 

She sighed half-heartedly, but she nodded as though it was inevitable that they would need her help. 

"I can do that. Draco, why don't you go back to the castle and get yourself, uh, changed - and then I'll make us some breakfast and we'll find your wands." 

Draco's carefully constructed mask faltered, and he glanced over to Harry in disbelief. The Saviour nodded faintly, before the blonde's eyebrows went up a little and he got to his feet. With one more look in Harry's direction, Draco took a handful of floo powder from the mantle and was gone in a flash of green light. 

As soon as he was gone, Ron rounded on Harry with barely controlled rage. 

"What the bloody hell are you playing at, bringing that snot-nosed bastard to my house?" 

Harry winced at the volume of Ron's voice, but he set his mug down and looked up at his friend. 

"Ron - you're the only people I know that live in London who would actually let Draco-"

"Draco now, is it?" snapped the redhead and Harry clenched his jaw. 

"Yes it is. We're  _ friends _ now, Ron." 

"Ron, you'll wake the baby-" 

But Hermione's tired voice was lost in Ron's rage. 

"He's a fucking Death Eater!" 

"No, he's not-" 

"I can't believe you'd put my family at risk-" 

Harry slammed his hand on the table, causing the redhead to jolt in surprise. Harry got to his feet, eyes narrowed. 

"Don't you dare say I would put you at risk. You really think I'd let anyone I didn't trust near your baby? Are you mental?"

Ron's jaw was set stubbornly, but his eyes were slightly widened at Harry's outburst. 

"Ron, just go to The Burrow," said Hermiome, getting to her feet to stand between the two of them. 

Harry would never get physical with Ron, even if they'd tousled in the past, because they were adults now and could bloody well act like it. 

Although Ron looked like he wanted to take a swing. He softened a little as Hermione faced him, and the baby started to stir in the bassinet. 

Harry went over to Rose as his friends spoke quickly in hushed whispers. The Saviour brushed his finger over the baby's face and she stilled at the contact, her little hands reaching out an clasping at his fingers. 

After a few moments, Ron huffed and stormed to the fireplace, avoiding Harry's eyes as he was engulfed in flames and disappeared. Harry sighed heavily. 

"Sorry Hermione, I didn't even think…" 

Hermione waved her hand dismissively, walking towards where Harry stood over the baby. 

"It's fine. He's already pissed off because Rose didn't sleep a wink last night and he promised to go and help Molly redecorate the lounge." 

She shrugged, smiling down as Rose yawned. 

Harry leaned back from the bassinet and stretched, yawning loudly before ruffling his hair. 

Hermione turned to him, wrinkling her nose. 

"Harry, you stink. Go and have a shower and grab some of Ron's clothes. I'll put the kettle on again and then you can tell me what the hell happened to you last night." 

Harry chuckled before he did as he was told, wondering what he was supposed to tell Hermione.

* * *

Things were… different between them now. 

Draco couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was, but it felt different. After he returned to Granger's house, and she did a summoning ritual to get their wands, they had eaten bacon sandwiches and talked about the baby. 

It was surreal to say the least, being part of Potter’s entourage. Was this what it had always been like? Just… chatting? 

It was probably more than that, but Draco decided that either way, it was fucking weird. 

Potter and Draco had returned to Hogwarts not long after that, going their separate ways to nurse their hangovers. Draco didn’t even want to think about how long it had taken him to wash the bloody neon pink from his hair. 

They’d carried on as normal after that - teaching, planning, marking, guiding, tutoring. It was a continuous loop, although the one anchor to his personal life had somehow become Harry Potter. 

Eating dinner together, sitting together, socialising with each other. It was almost the same as before -  _ almost _ . 

Draco glanced up from his book, scanning his eyes over the figure slumped in Draco’s sleek black armchair. His head was tilted back, revealing the long expanse of his neck. His chest rose and fell steadily, his arms folded and resting over his stomach. The homework he had been marking was sitting neglected on the arm of the chair while Potter snored softly. 

He fell asleep in Draco’s rooms more often than not, after a long day of teaching and a heavy dinner. Draco didn’t mind. There was something comforting about having another presence in his room. It didn’t feel quite so cold. Although at this rate, he probably should get the man a fold-out bed or something. 

Casting a quick  _ tempus _ charm, Draco saw it was almost midnight. He began his nightly routine of putting books on the table, blowing out the candles. He set Potter’s glasses on the table next to his wand and his marking, before shaking out the fluffy throw that smelled more and more like the Saviour each day. He threw it out and let it settle over the man, before he tugged it up a little higher on Harry’s chest. 

It was at that moment the Saviour took a sharp breath, stirring a little. His green eyes half-opened, and he smiled sleepily up at Draco. The blonde returned the faint smile, unable to resist gently brushing a strand of dark hair from those eyes. Potter reached up and grabbed his wrist, making Draco jolt in surprise. 

But his hold was gentle, and Draco watched in fascination as Harry lifted the arm up, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of the potion master’s wrist before he sighed again and snuggled deeper into the cushions. 

Draco took his hand away, holding it to his chest and feeling the harsh beat of his heart. His mouth was dry, his wrist still tingling.

He moved quickly into his bedroom and firmly closed his door, glad that Potter wasn’t awake enough to see his blush.

Yes, things were much the same as before. Almost exactly the same. 

Almost.


	13. Happy Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So sorry its been so long since I updated - basically I was working on an original story for Dreame but it became too much and sucked the fun out of writing. So I've taken to continuing my story privately and focusing on what I love again. Which is obviously this! I'm hoping to resume regular updates!   
> This was supposed to be 2 chapters buuuut considering you've waited so long, I made it all into one! Hope you enjoy!   
> Much love!

Harry slumped onto the bench, practically dropping the collection of paper and carrier bags in the empty space next to him. His arms were aching and his face stinging from the biting wind that had picked up just before he arrived.

Diagon Alley was absolutely heaving with Christmas shoppers, all frantic and excited as they shopped for presents. There was a sweet tang to the air from the open-stall vendors along the streets, and his stomach grumbled at the thought of a freshly made donut rolled in cinnamon sugar. 

He glanced over the bags, going through his mental shopping list again for the hundredth time. 

He’d got some little toys for Rosie and some kind of moving action figure for Teddy. Molly had a new sewing basket laden with all kinds of materials, cotton balls, ribbons, buttons and a few things he didn’t recognise. He’d found Arthur a muggle telephone in the shape of a London phonebox, which he would probably find fascinating. He’d bought Ron the newest Chudley Cannons Quidditch shirt (because Hermione had splashed out this year and gotten him the official team broomstick). Buying something for Hermione was always a challenge, because she wasn’t one for gifts unless they were practical. Harry had found her some kind of bookcase organiser, which took control of all books and organised them per the owner’s preference. Any book put near the little figurine would magically be sorted on the shelves. It also kept the books clean and tidy. 

There were a few little bits for Percy and Bill’s kids - mostly sweets. Part of him had wondered whether or not he should get something for Ginny, but he decided against it. She was dating someone new now, and the last thing he wanted to do was step on some other blokes toes. 

As he rubbed his hands together, trying to get some feeling back into his fingers, Harry wracked his brain. It felt like he was forgetting something, or someone, but he just couldn't think what. He wasn’t really one for presents anyway, although Ginny had gotten him in the habit of it when they were together, and he had to admit that it was a nice feel watching someone open a present you’d picked just for them. 

He sighed as he leaned back, pleased with his haul even though his coinpurse wasn't thanking him very much. 

As he watched people walk back and forth, something caught his eye. There was a glint of something tucked just in the corner and he tilted his head to see a small shop nestled in a far corner. 

Something was glinting in the window, and despite his exhaustion, he got to his feet. He cast a quick  _ wingardium leviosa  _ so that his shopping floated happily just by his side and wandered towards the shop. 

The rickety sign above the door read  _ Knick Knacks  _ in faded writing, and he realised he'd never noticed this shop before. 

The window was a colourful blaze of random odds and ends. Some things were beautiful - like an open music box with a tiny ballerina twirling and dancing. Ornaments were waving at him, paintings were watching him. But what caught his eye, what had been glinting in the fading sunlight - was a book. 

Not any kind of book, from what he could tell. The book sat on a little stand, and it was the most beautiful binding he had ever seen. 

It was made of silver scales. Tiny, delicate little scales that seemed to shimmer in the light. There was something ethereal about them, and Harry found himself stepping into the store. 

There was hardly space to move with all the junk piled around him, but he did spot a small elderly man sitting behind a desk. He was wearing spectacles that made his eyes look huge, and it was quite a sight against his frail frame.

"Uh, hello?" Called Harry, but the man didn't respond. Instead he just stared at him, like Harry had three heads or something. 

"Um, I was looking at that book in the window and-"

Harry was cut off as the old man suddenly got to his feet, moving with a speed he should definitely not have possessed at his age - before coming to a stop just inches from Harry's body. 

"The Book of Scales?" Asked the man, his voice raspy. 

Harry frowned. "I think so?" 

"What do you want with the book?" 

"Uh… I'd like to buy it?" 

"Hmm. Do you know what it is?" 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. 

"A… book?" 

The man huffed at him before he crossed his arms. 

"Its one of a kind. Made with the rarest dragon scales." 

Harry's eyes went wide. 

"Dragon scales? A dragon was killed for it?" 

The man watched him steadily before Harry frowned and shook his head. 

"Then no thanks." 

Dragons were terrifying and dangerous, but they were also intelligent and magnificent. There was no way he wanted anything to do with a book made of the scales from a murdered dragon. 

"Thanks anyway." 

Harry turned on his heel and started for the door. 

"Egg." 

He faltered, glancing back. 

"Excuse me?" 

"It is made from a dragon's egg." 

"That's even worse! How could you sell something like that!" 

The man clicked his tongue. 

"No, idiot boy. The egg had already hatched. It was made from the shards." 

Harry blinked. "Oh." 

The crooked man harrumphed at him before he edged towards the window. His gait was slower now, uneven, and that was how the Saviour had expected him to walk. Not like a howling banshee flying through the air. 

Harry watched as the old man produced a pair of weathered brown gloves from his pocket, pulling them on with careful consideration. The Saviour tried not to shift impatiently as the man reached over, taking his sweet time, before he finally held the book. 

Harry shuffled a little closer, leaning over as the man gently ran his gloved fingers over the cover. It glistened with an unnatural light, and Harry swore he could see tendrils of frost dancing back and forth. 

"Norwegian Ridgeback egg," the man mumbled, almost to himself. "Ice dragon." 

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. 

The echo of the Ridgeback played through his mind, and it was almost like he stood in front of it again. The pure terror in his chest as he looked up at an untamebale power… 

The man was watching him. Harry could feel the stare of the unnaturally big eyes under the specs. 

"You've seen one." 

Harry swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes focused on the book. 

"I've fought one." 

The Saviour cleared his throat and leaned back a little, desperare to change the subject. 

"So is it a journal, or…?"

"No." 

Harry frowned, about to ask for further information when the shopkeeper opened the book. The first page was a blaze of black ink. Faded, old script flowed around the edges of crisp parchment, encircling a beautifully sketched dragon. It was rearing on its hind legs, with wings outstretched and mouth open. 

"It is a book on Draconology, written in Latin." 

Harry barely heard the man, he was too busy tracing the dragon with his eyes. As though to illustrate his point, the shopkeeper gently turned the pages, revealing writings and drawings and detailed anatomical diagrams. At least, that was what it looked like. 

Harry bit the inside of his lip. 

"How much is it?" 

"A hundred galleons." 

Harry felt his jaw drop. 

"A…  _ hundred _ ?" 

"It is one of a kind," retorted the man hastily, his tone defensive and eyes hard, brokering no argument. 

Harry stood there, baffled, unable to really comprehend the price of a book. He didn’t think he’d ever spent a hundred galleons on  _ anything _ , let alone one single item. And it would be a gift as well. 

The diamond bracelet he’d gotten for Ginny had only been sixty, and he’d thought that was expensive. 

The shopkeeper stood patiently, despite the disapproving tilt of his head. When Harry still didn’t reply, the man sighed. He turned and placed the book gently back on the stand in the window. 

“Wait-” The Saviour’s mouth snapped shut. Was he really considering this? 

“Clearly you are uninterested in such a rare piece of history,” replied the man, his voice now taking on a condescending edge. Harry frowned. 

“A hundred galleons is a lot to spend on one gift,” tried Harry, unsure whether he was convincing the shopkeeper or himself. 

The man just watched him, those eyes still eerie in their magnified state. 

Finally, Harry let out a rush of frustrated breath. 

“I need to go to Gringotts.”

The man simply nodded his head and turned, limping back towards his counter. Harry glanced at the book as he made for the door. 

“Be quick about it, I close in a half hour.”

Harry just sent an unimpressed glance over his shoulder before he descended back into the chaotic street. 

No, he had no idea why he was buying the bloody book. Was he going to anyway?

Obviously.

* * *

Christmas morning was much like every other he’d experienced this past week. He rose, probably a little later than was proper, pulling on his thick robe against the winter chill and wandered into his small kitchenette. 

His movements were sluggish but familiar as he filled his kettle at the sink and set it to boil on his sleek stove. 

A yawn cracked his jaw as he turned, and very carefully he raised his arms. His back was stiff and sore, as it often was, so he stretched carefully. There was a pop somewhere in his lower spine which turned his stomach a little, but it didn’t immediately flood him with agony. 

At least he wouldn’t be spending Christmas day bed-bound. 

Sitting on the metallic counter was a rolled up copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ and he could already see the Christmas rubbish on the front page. He rolled his eyes before turning to finish his tea. 

Once he cradled the steaming brew, Draco plucked up the paper and padded into his living room. He glanced up briefly at the little black and silver tree in the corner of the room. It was the only kind of decoration he had, and he hadn’t even put it there himself. It seemed as though the castle itself wanted at least a smidge of Christmas cheer in his rooms, so it materialised the same little tree every year. 

It made the corner of his mouth twitch as he sunk into his arm chair, setting his mug on the little glass table to his side. 

The paper was just as he’d expected it to be. 

_ Christmas spending at an all time high.  _

_ The Goblin that Found Love on Christmas Eve.  _

_ The Golden Trio, and who they’re spending today with.  _

Draco admittedly flicked through the pages until he found the section on Potter, Granger and Weasley. 

For some reason, the  _ Prophet _ did it every year. Who really cared what three people were doing? 

Inwardly, he laughed at himself. He was bloody reading it, wasn’t he? 

_ After leaving the Aurors, many suspected Mr Potter to be spending this Christmas alone. However, reliable sources confirm that he is indeed once again with the Weasley family. Joining them this year is the first born child of Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ronald Weasley. Sources have confirmed the child is a girl, but a name has yet to be released.  _

Draco scoffed, shaking his head and folding the paper. Drivel, all of it. They already did a two-page spread on Granger and Weasley the day their child was born. One of the midwitches spilled as well, giving out far too many details on the birth. Despite past grievances with the two of them, he’d been angered by the spread. No one deserved to know about that except their family. 

He reached for his tea, now in a sour mood, and sipped. 

His eyes wondered as he drank, and they soon fell on the tree. 

Something about it wasn’t quite right, and he really had to study it.

Sitting under the tree was a familiar little bag with galloping reindeers on it. The gift was there every year without fail. Another bottle of fancy alcohol from Minerva. She never forgot him, ever. His birthday and Christmas.

But this time, there was another. 

Another small gift, wrapped clumsily in bright blue paper decorated with drifting snowflakes. Draco blinked a few times, before he had the sense to get up and go over to the tree. 

Kneeling was a bit of a struggle, but he managed. His knees rested on the plush black rug, cradling him as he reached out for the gift. 

“What the-”

The paper crinkled in his hands, like it was made of glass. There was an unnatural cold seeping from it as well, and he briefly wondered whether it was some kind of cursed item. 

But that was impossible. The wards were doubled over Christmas, mostly against the creatures that ventured out of the Forbidden Forest during the solstice. 

Holding the gift in both hands, Draco edged himself backwards and sat. His legs folded in front of him, and he was briefly reminded of those younger years when he would sit around the tree on Christmas morning. 

He glanced to his right, where his mother would sit, but she wasn’t there. He swallowed thickly before turning the gift over. 

On the back was a small black smudge which he had to squint to read. 

_ Wear gloves. _

His frown deepened, and he was about to forgo the warning, but he did notice that his fingers were starting to go numb.

Frustrated, Draco took his wand from his robe pocket and  _ accioed _ his gloves. He shoved them on the moment they hit his palm, before turning back to the gift. 

From the shape of it, it looked like a book. 

Deciding to dive right in, he tore the paper. It splintered like shattered ice and fell away, revealing the shimmering cover. 

His eyes widened. 

Scales. They were scales. 

He ran his fingers over them, again and again, watching frost dancing over the surface. 

Not just any scales. They were dragon scales. He recognised the tipped edge of the scales and the hardened fold. 

The potions master may or may not have held his breath the entire time, and he only just managed to release it as he opened the cover. 

Something slipped out and he glanced into his lap where the folded piece of parchment sat. 

Setting the book aside, he licked his lower lip and tried to ignore the slight tremour in his hand as he unfolded the note. 

The writing was absolute chicken-scratch, and his heart thumped loudly as his mind recognised it. No… couldn't be. 

_ So apparently there were a few rules with the book which the guy repeated to me honest-to-Merlin five times.  _

  * _Don’t leave the book in direct sunlight. It’ll rust the scales? Can scales rust?_



Yes they can, thought Draco distractedly. 

  * _Always wear gloves, because you’ll lose a couple of fingers. This one I can say I believe, mostly because I lost feeling for over an hour in my hand after I wrapped it._



_ And finally,  _

  * _Don’t copy the notes or write in the book._



_ The guy was really passionate about that. I don’t think he actually wanted to sell it to me, but, well, it was in a shop so… anyway. I wanted to make sure you got the rules because I won’t be back until Boxing Day to tell you.  _

_ So… yeah. Happy Christmas.  _

_ Harry _

His mouth was hanging open, he knew. But he could hardly move. Didn’t think he was blinking, either. Definitely not breathing properly. 

Merlin only knew how long it took him to actually breathe again. When he did, he set the letter aside and picked up the book. 

Each page was a wonder of information, from the anatomical information to the socialisation of dragons. And not just one type of dragon, but hundreds. His mind absolutely raced with excitement, and he must have sat on the floor for a good hour without moving as he drank it all in. 

Finally, when his arse was numb and his back ached, Draco got up off the floor. He put the book on the glass coffee table but even as he walked into his kitchen, he still glanced back at it. The scales radiated their own enchanting light, brilliant and powerful even in their old age. 

He was… baffled. The pages alone were hundreds of years old, preserved by the scales. From what he remembered, egg hunting had been banned at the beginning of the Victorian age. 

So the book was rare. Incredibly so. Where had Potter found it? Draco wracked his brain for what felt like hours, differing from wonder to annoyance. 

Had Potter done this on purpose? Gotten him something so rare that he would never be able to return the gesture? To make him feel inferior? 

But that was a Sytherin tactic, something that Potter was definitely lacking. It was more likely the man had thought it something pretty, without realising the significance.

Draco huffed, flopping into his chair and picking up the book again. 

He hadn't got the Golden Prat anything, obviously. What was he supposed to get? Nothing would be open. 

Not that they would serve him, anyway. 

It grated on him, whirring in the back of his mind. 

By the time dinner rolled around, he'd finished half the book and he was even more frustrated. 

So he grabbed the bottle from under the tree and poured himself a generous glass. He would just have to stew on it for a bit longer.

* * *

Harry sighed as the rush of the fire settled to his back, watching as the scones in his empty rooms burst into life at his presence. 

His mind was a little foggy and the acrid taste of sherry was still playing on his tongue. 

He didn't even know what time it was. 

All he knew was that Molly had kept refilling his glass and Ginny had kept trying to talk to him. It was a bit too much, considering she was with her new boyfriend, and the sounds of a full Weasley house was surprisingly grating on him. 

For the first time in… well, ever, Harry had wanted to leave. Not maliciously, he just… wanted some quiet. Ron had given him a sherry-induced hug as well as a sloppy kiss on his cheek (which made the other Wesley brothers laugh hysterically) and a quick hug from a very tired-looking Hermione. 

Harry felt like he’d only just gotten out alive, and if there hadn’t been so much drink they probably wouldn’t have let him leave at all. 

Stepping into his rooms at Hogwarts was like breathing the freshest air, and he savoured the deep anchor of home. Kicking off his shoes by the fire, Harry shrugged off his jacket as he walked through the lounge and into his kitchen. The room was dazzling in it’s Christmas splendour, with decorations spanning through the entire chamber. He loved it, wondering who had been kind enough to decorate for him considering he’d just woken up and it was all there. Harry reached up and ran his fingers over a hanging tinsel star, before filling up his kettle and setting it on the stove. 

The hearth was now burning happily, spreading warmth through the room and hitting Harry’s already warm cheeks. He huffed and yanked off his jumper, scrunching his nose and his thin t-shirt came off with it. He shrugged, because he was tipsy, and because he was alone. 

He made himself a cuppa, deciding that he would go to bed after this. His arse had just brushed the sofa cushions when there was a faint knock on his door. 

He sighed, setting his mug on the coffee table before he got up to answer it. 

He was not expecting to see Draco standing there. 

The blonde’s silver eyes were slightly wide, and a little fuzzy, and he had a small blush on his pale cheeks. 

“Potter - Harry. I… I didn’t think you were back until tomorrow.”

Harry smiled faintly, gesturing for the man to come in before he headed back to his sofa. 

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” he explained, heaving a sigh as he sank down again, before retrieving his mug and taking a sip. 

Draco was hovering, and it took Harry longer than normal to recognise the slight hunch of his shoulders. 

“How did you know I was back?” he asked, not particularly bothered but still curious nonetheless. Draco cleared his throat and turned his head, seemingly looking over some tinsel wrapped around a sconce. 

“I, ah, asked one of the houselves to let me know when you were back. Because-” he added quickly, turning on his heel. “Because I wanted to - ah - to, um…”

Harry frowned, sitting up a little as he watched Draco struggle. He was so uncharacteristically nervous, shifting from foot to foot, with his nails dragging over his thumbs. It set Harry on edge, because Draco was always so composed. Sure, he was a little more open now than he used to be, but this was a dramatic change. 

“Draco? What’s…”

Harry’s words died on his tongue, because he realised that Draco’s face had taken on a… weirdly intense turn. His eyes seemed brighter, positively gleaming, and he was watching Harry with a focus that made the Saviour’s heart drop. 

“D-Draco?”

It was like the blonde had been summoned, because he started forward. Harry watched with wide eyes, leaning back as the Potion’s Master kept coming forward. So much so that Harry could smell the faint whiff of ingredients on his robes. 

“Um…” Harry couldn't speak, his mouth felt too dry. His blood rushed around his ears, a symphony of his confusion. Draco didn’t stop, though, instead leaning forward and causing Harry to suck in a sharp breath. 

The blonde’s hands were suddenly braced on Harry’s thighs, making the Saviour swallow thickly. He should have stopped the other, because he could smell alcohol on his breath, but it was like he was frozen. 

Draco’s eyes were burning into his own, as though they commanded his very soul to obey. It was heady, blinding, and Harry felt Draco’s weight shift through the hold on his legs. Harry let out a quick breath as the blonde shifted, and the Saviour realised that Draco was on his knees. 

All he could do was watch with impossibly wide eyes as the potions master got comfortable, and the hands once gripping his thighs were now on his knees, and he was pushing them apart. 

Harry’s heart jumped, his body jolting from shock, and his mouth hung open to protest. But obviously he wasn’t  _ that _ against it, because no words came out. 

When a soft, warm hand ran over his abdomen, Harry bit down on his lower lip. Draco’s attention seemed to be on Harry’s bare chest, and it made the Saviour’s head spin. 

Heat was curling and coiling in his gut, stirring his cock despite his better judgement. Those clever hands worked over the muscles of his abdomen, dipping into each fold and crease. They seemed to be dipping lower, and it was all Harry could do not to squirm. 

His rational mind was trying to keep up, to comprehend, to dissuade him from the fact that this was a very compromising situation. That this couldn't possibly be happening. 

Fingers pressed under the lip of his jeans and Harry’s hands flew out before he could stop himself. Draco looked up and Harry caught his eyes. It was like a physical blow. 

So much was swimming in those quicksilver eyes, but what Harry saw most was the absolute inferno of lust. His pupils were blown, his cheeks even darker, and his lips were parted slightly.

He was… definitely a sight to behold. 

Harry’s mind flooded with images of that hair mussed, after being grabbed and stroked - and those lips, wet and swollen from hard kissing. He pictured a sheen of sweat beading on his brow, and even just imagining it was enough to take his breath away. 

Neither of them spoke, because whatever had taken hold of them seemed fragile, and Harry wasn’t brave enough to shatter that. 

Instead Draco’s fingers started to move again, gently popping the button and pulling down the zip. Harry felt the pressure ease as his jeans were opened, and his bulge pressed against the thin cotton of his boxers. 

Draco was looking downwards now, and Harry wished he could see those eyes. Would the blonde be disappointed? Was he changing his mind? Why was he doing this?

So many questions, drawing Harry back to rationality - that was, until Draco pressed the heel of his palm against Harry’s crotch. The sound that escaped Harry’s throat was a mixture between a whimper, a moan and a gasp. 

Draco’s head snapped back up, his bright eyes searching. Harry was breathing hard, blinking rapidly, a new ache swelling in his cock. He wasn’t sure what Draco was looking for, but he must have found it, because his boxers were being pulled back and Harry’s erection was finally free. 

He let out a long breath, the cold of exposure threatening to send him running. But Draco seemed to sense it, because he wasted no time in leaning forward. 

Harry yelped as his cock was suddenly engulfed in a wet, hot warmth. The sound drew out into a sharp moan and he scratched at the material of the sofa to try and stop himself from bucking into the blonde’s mouth. 

He felt the slick warmth of Draco’s tongue as it swirled around the tip of his cock. His lips were holding Harry’s dick still while his tongue made random, maddening patterns. 

Harry threw his head back, his arms reaching up to grab the back of the sofa. 

It had been nearly two years since he had been intimate with anyone, and he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have his cock in a warm mouth. 

Draco continued the assault with his tongue, mapping out every inch of Harry’s cock before moving to the next side. When he felt that skilled tongue run through the slit, Harry whimpered. His body was tense, every muscle poised to thrust. 

The urge to grab Draco’s head and fuck into his mouth until he came was oberwhelming, but he assumed that would be impolite. 

Instead his hands gripped the back of the sofa with such force that his arms ached, but he couldn't stop. Draco would think him an idiot, he was sure, because who reacted so intensely to a blow job? 

But the blonde’s tongue was fucking  _ blinding _ him, smothering him, and it felt so  _ good _ .

Harry moaned loudly as Draco’s lips and jaw joined in the movements, feeling the tight pressure wrapping around his dick as the other hollowed his cheeks and started to suck. 

His back arched and he bit down on his lower lip, trying to control himself. Draco’s tongue continued to lap either side, swirling down the shaft on each press down, and then moving over the head on the pull back up. 

He was insanely talented, and Harry was melting. His breathing was quick and shallow, feeling the build of his release already. He would have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so blown away. 

“Draco,” he gasped, the sound twisting into a strangled moan as the man sucked particularly hard. 

His tempo was speeding up and Harry’s hands flew to Draco’s head before he could stop himself. His fingers twisted in those blonde strands, holding them tight like an anchor. His arms flexed with the movement of Draco’s head, his hands tightening and releasing in time with the waves of pleasure. 

It wasn’t until Draco stilled that Harry gathered enough sense to realise he was probably hurting the man. He released Draco’s hair and let his hands settle at his sides, but something made his eyes flutter open. 

It was a small sound, almost like a sigh, and Harry glanced down to see Draco’s left hand reaching up blindly. The movement on his cock only stilled a little until the potion master’s hand landed on his own. 

Harry was baffled when Draco shoved his hand back onto his head. The Saviour blinked rapidly before he swiped his open fingers back into Draco’s hair and held on firmly. That was when Draco let out a quiet, but unmistakable moan. 

Harry’s jaw hung open. Did… was Draco enjoying being grabbed? Harry licked his lips as he tightened his grip, only to have the blonde shift and moan again. The vibrations felt delicious around his cock and Harry groaned, tempted to fall back into the bliss. 

But he was too curious. 

He added some gentle pressure to his hand, forcing Draco’s head down a little harder. The man almost squirmed, sucking for forcefully. Harry could see the blonde’s right arm moving, but it was obscured by the sofa. Harry whimpered, wanting to  _ see _ what Draco was doing, even though it was pretty obvious. He still wanted to see.

Harry’s arm moved in tandem with Draco’s head, adding a little pressure here and there. Draco was making little sounds in the back of his throat, clearly enjoying being manhandled. It gave Harry a rush of euphoria and empowerment. 

The Saviour didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to see Draco touching himself, he wanted to watch that head bobbing up and down, he wanted to grab the back of the sofa and thrust until he came. 

So much to do, so little time. His climax was building, his heart hammering in his chest as it grew closer. 

“Draco,” he whispered, the sound more of a moan than anything. 

It was a mistake. Draco leaned back a little so he could glance up, and it completely unraveled the Saviour. 

Those eyes, almost black with how wide Draco’s pupils were. The way his cheeks were a burning crimson, or the way his lips were pink and glistening as they glided effortlessly up and down his cock. 

It was all too much. Too intense. 

Harry’s other hand grabbed Draco’s head and he couldn't stop himself. He bucked his hips one, twice, and he was gone. 

Harry had no idea what he shouted, only that he had done so. His climax was strong enough to knock the breath from his lungs, and he only just registered that he was still rocking into Draco’s mouth. 

It was achingly intense for a good ten seconds, before his body collapsed back against the sofa, leaving his head spinning. There were little splotches in his vision, and he couldn't clear them no matter how many times he blinked. 

His breath was hard and fast, and he kept swallowing as though it would wet his dry throat. His body felt absolutely wrung of energy, heavy and thick. 

His hands were by his side as he fought to control his heart. There was a small  _ pop _ and Harry shivered at the sensitive tingle that ran through his cock. 

Harry’s eyes were half-lidded, but he still felt the dip in the sofa. He blinked blearily, but he felt more than saw the blonde. Draco was leaning forward, his cheek brushing against Harry’s.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

The voice was barely a whisper, but it was deep and ragged, making Harry shudder. 

It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes before Harry opened his eyes again. From the chill seeping into his bare skin, he guessed it was the latter. 

The Saviour sat up quickly, glancing around. The room was empty and quiet, with nothing but the faint crackle of the hearth sounding through. 

Draco was gone. 

Had Harry passed out?

He frowned, glancing around again, but the blonde wasn’t there. The Saviour checked the other rooms just in case, but no luck. 

Had he imagined it?

No, his limbs were too heavy, his body too spent for it to have been a dream. 

Unsure of himself, still a little tipsy, and ultimately tired, Harry gave up. He stripped off his (still unzipped) jeans and crawled into bed. His head was still spinning but his exhaustion won out. He would just have to talk to Draco about it in the morning. 


End file.
